


Firebug

by JubilationTCornpone



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Death, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JubilationTCornpone/pseuds/JubilationTCornpone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wirt realizes what's actually in the lantern. Now, it's his job to fuel it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deal

The situation made Wirt momentarily recall an incident he had when he was eight.

He, his mother, and father (his real father) had been visiting his grandparents' cottage at the seaside, and Wirt had gone for a swim by himself. He kept diving deeper and deeper into the surf to see how long he could last underwater, a part of him pretending to be the sea monster from an old black & white horror film he had watched with his grandfather the night before. If he shared anything emotionally genetic with Greg, it was probably their sense of childhood imagination.

At some point, he'd tangled his leg in a kelp bed, which constricted when he tried to swim back up, preventing him from reaching the surface. He had thrashed and fought like a wildcat as his lungs quickly became starved of oxygen. Just as he was beginning to get tunnel vision, the rope of kelp around his leg finally uprooted against his struggle, and he was able to get himself to shore, where he lay gasping for breath for the next 20 minutes. He never told his family what had happened for fear of them never letting him swim alone again.

He knew for a fact that drowning wasn't supposed to feel as peaceful as it currently did.

*

_"I'm not just going to wander around in the woods for the rest of my life!"_

_"I'm TRYING to help you!" The Beast growled, an unnatural tremor growing in his (its?) voice._

_Wirt remained steadfast, gripping the lantern tighter as a chilling realization slowly dawned on him. "You're not trying to help me, you just have some weird obsession with keeping this lantern lit. It's almost like... YOUR-"_

_The wind was suddenly forced from his lungs as the Beast attacked him, knocking him to the ground. He heard Beatrice cry out something, but didn't understand. The lantern was quickly snatched from his grasp before he could even struggle to pull back._

_"Wait!"_

_Within the two seconds it took Wirt to scramble back up, the Beast had already vanished. So had the lantern. Without the lantern, darkness overtook anything a few feet away from him._

_"Over here! We're over here, Wirt!" He heard Beatrice shout through the darkness. He hastily made his way towards the sound of her voice, nearly tripping over a root in the process. He found Beatrice making a fruitless effort to cull the growth of the vines that surrounded Greg with her beak._

_No...._

_The edelwood sapling had hastened its growth, slowly entrapping more of Greg with every passing moment. Wirt immediately began pulling at the branches, kicking the base; things that he should have been able to snap off having the strength of steel pipes. In a panic, he searched the darkness around him. The woodsman had an axe, didn't he? He could use it to cut Greg out._

_He couldn't even hear the woodsman's pained groaning anymore, much less see him or his axe. How far away had he fallen? In the time it would take Wirt to blindly locate the axe, would it be too late for Greg? His head snapped back to his brother, the edelwood overtaking his body with every second. A fresh round of anxiety-induced tears blurred the vision of his dying brother. Nononono please no..._

_There was no time to think._

_"I'LL DO IT!!!" He screamed into the darkness._

_The growth of Greg's edelwood ceased._

_Several seconds of complete silence followed. Then, anything remaining in Wirt's already-limited vision bled away, leaving him standing in a black void._

_And then, the void was filled with a booming voice._

_"YOU'LL DO WHAT?"_

_Wirt shuddered, wiping his face on his sleeve and staring into the abyss with reddened eyes in a last-ditch effort to look at least somewhat collected. "L-look..." He began, "You and I both know what's really in that lantern. You need the oil from these... 'trees'... to fuel it."_

He took a big gulp.

_"I'll help you. I'll cut down your trees. I'll grind them into oil for you and fuel your lantern with it. You won't need to lie to me about what the trees are or what's in the lantern... Just please... Let me take my brother back home."_

_Another pause._

_Then, without warning, Wirt's vision came flooding back. The Beast stood in front of him, lantern in hand. Beatrice, her little bird eyes widened in horror, sat completely still on the edelwood sapling encircling Greg. The woodsman was several feet away, his weary eyes darting between Wirt and the Beast._

_"You may bring your brother back home, safe and alive." Said the Beast in a solemn tone, "But you will not go back with him. Your life for your brother's."_

_Wirt swallowed thickly._

_"Deal."_

_"NO!" Shouted the woodsman, struggling weakly in the snow. The Beast slunk back into the darkness, giving a short nod in Greg's direction before disappearing completely again._

_Wirt immediately rushed to Greg's side. The branches that had previously been strong and full of life were now dead and brittle, crumbling under his touch. Greg gave out a loud gasp upon being released, but remained unconscious, even as his brother pulled him into a tight hug and dampened his shoulder with his tears. Beatrice struggled to find something to say, but all she could manage was "Wirt..."_

_Hoisting the exhausted, but still very much alive boy onto his back, and gathering frog Jason Funderberker in his free arm, Wirt looked back at Beatrice. "Come with us."_

_"I..." Beatrice looked down. "I gotta go home too. Admit to my family it's my fault they're bluebirds."_

_Knowing that was his proverbial cue, Wirt reached into his pocket and produced Adelaide's scissors. "Ahem."_

_Beatrice fluttered up in surprise. "WHAT?!"_

_"The scissors. That'll make your family human again."_

_"YOU HAD THEM ALL ALONG??" Beatrice asked, still in disbelief._

_Wirt shrugged his shoulders. "I... used them to escape Adelaide, and... and then, yeah... I was sorta mad at you."_

_Beatrice couldn't hold back her own tears any longer. "Oh, you..." She landed on Wirt's shoulder and embraced his face with her wings. "...You wonderful mistake of nature." Wirt brought a hand up to hug her back, then motioned for her to take the scissors he still held. Beatrice nodded, dried her eyes on her wing, and grabbed the scissors with her little bird feet before taking off into the darkness. She looked back only once._

_In the other direction, the trees leaned to their side, revealing a path that had not been there before. There was a small light in the distance of the path. Wirt sighed. The way home._

_"Do you have any idea what you've done?!" The woodsman shouted from his position on the ground, "Don't you realize what this has cost you??"_

_Another sigh, this one with a slight tremor. He was too tired to cry again. "I know what it's saved."_

_He began his trek onto the path, noticing after a minute or two that the light at the end soon began to swallow them up._

_He took a deep breath..._

_Grabbed Greg and Jason..._

_And swam upward._

*

It was only a moment later, a meter below the shore that his leg snagged on something. He threw Greg and his frog towards the surface, and heard the muffled sound of a cough coming from his brother shortly thereafter. Another set of hands appeared and lifted him out. Greg was safe. He was home. Wirt managed to give a small smile at his accomplishment before the snag on his leg began to drag him back under. 

It reminded him of the kelp incident, but from a stronger, more purposeful force. He attempted to swim upwards again, in the sliver of hope that it wasn't too late to save himself, but he was only dragged further downward. The sensation his oxygen-deprived lungs brought him was familiar, along with the ensuing tunnel vision. However, the two glowing lights at the end of the tunnel were new.

Then darkness again.

Then falling.

And then he felt something... someone... catch him.

He knew for a fact that drowning wasn't supposed to feel as peaceful as it currently did.

He let out the breath he'd been holding.

 

"Goodbye, Greg."

 

"Goodbye, Wirt."


	2. Finders-Keepers

_"At least wait 'til the storm dies down a bit." Beatrice's mother pleaded as Wirt scooped Greg's unconscious frog up from the nest. Despite being a bluebird, her eyes held a very human, motherly concern in them. It made him think of home. "You'll be no good to your brother dead."_

_Wirt looked down, making his way out of the hollowed tree and into the blizzard. "I was never any good to him alive, either." He raised his head and took one last look at Beatrice's family. "Thank you. Thank you so much."_

_"If you see Beatrice again, give her a hug for us."_

_"...Yeah."_

 

*

 

Wirt stirred, his eyes cracking open ever-so-slightly. It was almost disappointing to wake up. That had probably been the most refreshing nap he'd ever had in his life.

  _...What's left of it anyway_ , he thought to himself.

 Giving a yawn, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. Once again, he found himself in the hollowed space of a tree. He assumed, at first, that it was the tree he'd shared with Beatrice's family before, sans birds. Then the noxious, overpowering smell hit his nostrils, and he was able to awaken a little more. This was definitely not Beatrice's family's tree. Their tree hadn't smelled this sickly sour. Almost like gasoline, copper and old meat. The strange, oily texture of the bark was also unfamiliar and made him uneasy. He had to get out of there.

 He let out a low hiss as pain shot up his left arm when he attempted to lean on it, and noticed that there were spots of blood peeking through his sleeve. Rolling it up, he found a nasty-looking gash where it looked like the blood had just recently finished clotting. When had that happened?? He shook his head and rolled it back down.

 Carefully, he crawled towards the entrance of the hollow, some of the oil from the bark rubbing onto his hands and staining the knees of his trousers. Outside, the blizzard had stopped, and the snow on the ground had begun to melt. It was still dark, but he could see a sliver of light creeping on the horizon through the trees. Was the sun rising or setting? He wondered exactly how long he'd been asleep in the tree.

 He attempted to get a better grip on the edge of the hollow, when he felt a sickening 'crunch' under his right hand. Giving a yelp, he lost his balance and tumbled out of the tree and onto the ground, losing his hat in the process. He landed in the snow with a wet 'splat.' Fortunately, the distance between the hole and the ground was only about two or three feet. It was enough to momentarily daze him, but not enough to do any real damage.

 He held up his hand, noticing the gruesome remains of a small black turtle he had accidentally crushed. Yuck. He got up slowly, and rubbed the turtle off on the tree.

 The tree. That's when he really noticed the tree.

 He looked up at it, his eyes widening. It was an edelwood tree. Shorter than the others he had seen, but no less horrifying. Like the others, this edelwood held a terrible, contorted face on it; this one in particular looked like it had just gone through the heartbreak of a lifetime. Wirt made a face as he realized the hollow he had emerged from was in fact the tree's open 'mouth.' No wonder he had felt like he was sitting in a corpse.

 "You're awake."

 At the sound of that voice, Wirt's anxiety level skyrocketed. He was suddenly acutely aware of where he was, who was talking to him, and what kind of deal he had made with the owner of the voice. Nonononono.... He felt a fresh round of tears begin to form and threaten to leak from his eyes.

 "Look at me."

 Wirt screwed his eyes shut and aggressively shook his head. He didn't dare turn around. He wasn't ready to accept that this was actually happening yet. He wasn't ready to start the stupid deal he had just died to keep. This was too much, too soon. 

 "I said... LOOK AT ME."

 Suddenly, two gnarled hands grabbed his shoulders and swung him around. Wirt jerked his head away, but the Beast took hold of his chin and yanked it up. He adamantly kept his eyes shut tight, despite the fact that the tears he had felt forming before were now spilling down his cheeks. He took hold of the arms that held him, trying to pull them off, but the beast was far too strong for that to work. He began to let out a few choked sobs.

 "If you think this contemptible display of cowardice will save you from the fate you've arranged, you're out of luck."

 Wirt shook his head again, giving another sob. "Please..." He finally opened his eyes, trembling under the two glowing eyes of the Beast that filled his vision. "I... I-I'm not... r-ready..."

 "Oh?" The Beast backed Wirt up until he was able to pin him against the edelwood. "You seemed ready enough before. Would you have preferred if I'd simply left you to watch as your pitiful brother became a tree? I had planned on it." His grip on Wirt tightened, causing the boy to let out a small grunt. "I could have left you there to freeze to death next to him. Why, the two of you together would have given me enough oil for possibly a year." He lowered his head closer to Wirt's, gripping the boy's jaw when he attempted to look away again. "You really are a spoiled child. I let you take your brother home just as you requested. I let you sleep out the storm. I picked out a tree for you. I even have the equipment you'll need to fulfill your end of the bargain."

 Wirt sniffed. "E-equipment?" The Beast stood tall again, and the hand on his jaw turned his head slightly to the right. On the ground, amongst the roots of the edelwood, the Beast's lantern lay, illuminating the woodsman's axe and a small pack he recalled the woodsman having. For smaller tools, he guessed. "You stole them from the Woodsman?"

 "They were already here, actually. I haven't touched them."

 "But why would the Woodsman leave his-" Wirt paused as the Beast began to chuckle darkly. That was never a good sign. 

 Did the Beast kill him? From the look of the snow, there didn't seem to be any signs of a struggle. Maybe the Woodsman simply gave up and went back home, now that the Beast no longer needed him. But if that was the case why didn't he take his things with him in case-

 And then it hit him.

 His eyes widened.

 His hands twitched against the tree the Beast held him against. The tree that he-

 He could feel the bile begin to rise.

 With a shout, he wrestled himself free from the Beast (who allowed him to), fell to the ground on his hands and knees, and emptied the contents of his stomach into the snow. The Beast merely stood there, watching with a sick sense of amusement.

 After another two minutes of dry heaving, Wirt sat up and wiped his mouth with his cape. He looked back up at the Beast, once again with reddened eyes. "You... y-you had me sleeping in..."

 "Would you have preferred to be dumped in a snow bank?"

 Wirt kneeled over again, not wanting to give the Beast the satisfaction of watching his face crumble. He recalled the many times the Woodsman had tried to protect him and Greg from the Beast. Even after they had destroyed his mill, he kept watch over them from a distance. He warned them every chance he got. He tried to steel them in the right direction. He tried to stop them before they wandered right into the Beast's grasp. Tried to stop them from making the same mistakes he did. All these actions, he and his brother had thrown back in his face.

 All that effort, only to end up as the thing he'd been cutting down for years. The Woodsman hadn't even known what the edelwood trees truly were until he and Greg did.

 He looked back up and glared. "I'm not cutting down this tree."

 "You say that as if you'd be doing him a favor."

 "He wouldn't want this. He hated you. He tried to protect my brother and I from you. I'm not going to just feed him to your stupid lantern."

 The Beast ran a hand up the bark of the edelwood, almost in a bored fashion, stopping shy of a few small branches. "You say that now, but given time, I believe you'll be as eager as I to make use of him." With that, he ripped the branches off, leaving an oily gash in the bark.

 "STOP THAT!" Wirt shouted. "And what do you mean I'll be as eager as you?!"

 The Beast loomed over him like a vulture. "The Woodsman believed his daughter's spirit lived in the lantern, so there was no real question about his reliability of keeping it lit. You, on the other hand..." The Beast crouched down, reaching a hand out to touch Wirt, stopping only when the boy flinched away. "Such a smart boy. Too smart. It didn't take you long to see through that ruse." He stood up, and walked over towards the lantern. "I needed another form of leverage."

 "What are you talking about? We already made a deal."

 He picked up the lantern. "Trust is something earned, not bartered. Frankly, I don't trust you not to neglect your end of the bargain without the right persuasion. Yet." He walked back over to Wirt, and tapped his finger on the lantern's glass. "It only takes a few drops of blood to make you hungry."

 Wirt scowled. "...Blood?" Suddenly, he recalled the big, nasty gash on his arm. He quickly pulled his sleeve up and stared at it again. Then back up at the Beast. "What did you do?!"

 The Beast chuckled. "Calm down. You know as well as I that I can't actually put the souls of others into my lantern. I can, however, bind you to it. At least, for a little while." He held the lantern closer to Wirt. "When the oil runs low, you will feel it. You will hate it. When you feed the lantern, the feeling will go away."

 Wirt gave him a mortified look. "How long will that last?"

 "Long enough."

 Wirt sighed. He honestly wasn't that surprised that the Beast would do something like this. Even though they had made a deal, Wirt didn't even think he could go through with this. Then again, what choice did he have? He gave another sigh, picked up his hat, and stood up.

 "At least let me look for a different edelwood."

 "Fair enough." He set the branches he had torn off down, near the Woodsman's supplies. He regarded the boy again, standing up to his full height, lantern in hand. "Come here."

 Wirt took a cautious step towards the Beast, looking up at him carefully. The Beast stared back. It was a hard stare, but difficult to read. To his credit, you can only gather so much from glowing orbs. _The abyss gazes back_ , he thought to himself. This was probably the best example of that quote that he could imagine.

 Then, wordlessly, the Beast held out his lantern. 

 Wirt paused.

 ...And took it.

 

 


	3. Dorothy

_"So then what?"_

_"Well..." Wirt tried to choose his words carefully. He looked back at Beatrice from across the fire. "So then I went to go talk to Sara. I mean, REALLY talk to her, you know? Put all my cards on the table, y'know?"_

_"Yeah...?"_

_"And then..." His brow furrowed. "Jason Funderberker comes out of nowhere and whisks her away!" He shut his eyes in frustration. "Agh... Jason Funderberker... that guy..." He looked over at Greg, who was covered in mud and currently trying to toast a dead leaf over the fire like a marshmallow. "Plus, Greg was around. He would've embarrassed me even more."_

_"Well, Wirt, sounds like you're a real loser back home." Beatrice sardonically declared._

_"Oh, thanks a lot."_

_She crossed her wings. "I mean, compared to how you are here. Here, you're like a hero and stuff, right?"_

_"Am I?" Wirt looked genuinely surprised to hear that. He looked away, bashfully. "W-well, I don't know if I'd say 'hero,' but-"_

_"Do you think that I could be a hero too?" Greg interrupted, right before he got distracted by something the frogs were doing._

_Beatrice ignored him and looked back at Wirt. "If I was you, I wouldn't even want to go home."_

_Wirt frowned. "Yeah, but... I can't stay here forever."_

_The bluebird shrugged. "Why not?"_

_"Why not?" Wirt repeated, put off by the question. "Because I... because I can't just..." He thought about it for a moment, what Beatrice had said about him doing better here than he ever had back at home. He sighed, lowering his voice to a dejected whisper. "Yeah... maybe it is better to stay here..."_

_Beatrice weirdly perked up at that. "Great! Then it's agreed; we're not going to Adelaide's! Goodnight, Wirt!"_

 

*

 

Wirt quickly learned, as the sun rose higher, that the Beast wasn't particularly fond of daylight. He wasn't sure if it hurt him, or if he just preferred the concealment that darkness provided. To his credit, It would probably look pretty bizarre (moreso than usual, at least) to see the Beast walking around in the light of day, seeing as light in general just didn't seem to affect him. He was like a creepy, walking silhouette.

The Beast's aversion to daylight allowed Wirt to get away from him, at least for a little while. He knew he was probably still being stalked in the shadows, but it beat being hovered over. He needed his space, especially now. He needed some time to think. He didn't want to be near anybody. The concept of having just "died" was a lot to take in, you know?

It still hadn't even fully hit him. He was probably still in shock. The only detail that really seemed to tug his heart at the moment was that (aside from the Beast) he was alone. He'd started this journey with Greg and his frog. Then Beatrice. One way or another, their shared goal was to get home. He'd been called "The Pilgrim," right? Someone on a sacred journey, or something. Sort of like the The Wizard of Oz.

...Only, instead of a brain, heart, and courage, his companions got scissors, a frog, and... Didn't Jason Funderfrog get a record contract at some point? Unfortunately, in this version of the story, Dorothy was only allowed to bring Toto back to Kansas before getting dragged back by the wicked witch. Then Dorothy carried the witch's soul around in a lantern for all eternity. He decided that this version of The Wizard of Oz was terrible and that he should feel terrible for even thinking it up.

The Woodsman's belt fit awkwardly around his waist, not to mention the fact that his pack and axe weren't exactly tied and holstered comfortably in it. The Woodsman's pack contained a few empty glass bottles, a metal funnel, and an old, rusted sap spile that looked like it hadn't been used in a while. Did sap spiles not work well with edelwood trees? He'd dug around, looking for something handheld that he could use to grind twigs with, but had come out empty-handed. The Woodsman had repurposed that abandoned grist mill to grind edelwood with, but he and his brother had torn it to pieces while fighting off what they had assumed was the Beast. No use going back there.

He stopped for a moment and looked around. Where was he even going? At first, his goal had been to simply trudge through as many open, sunny areas as he could find while he tried to get his thoughts in order. He was currently on a dirt path that ran through a meadow. It looked... sort of familiar. Hadn't they taken this route to Endicott's manor? They had travelled at night, so he couldn't be entirely sure.

He held up the lantern, watching as the strange, otherworldly flame danced inside. His brow furrowed. He hadn't felt any sort of discomfort yet, like the Beast had warned he would. He supposed he still had time before he'd need to worry about oil. Good. He could concentrate on working out all the other problems he had going on in his head.

He had just finished that thought when his free arm (unfortunately, his left) was suddenly pulled painfully behind his back, and a knife placed at his throat. "Your money or your life." Said a gruff voice.

_Great._

Wirt gave out a pained grunt, hoping against hope that the wound on his now-bound arm wouldn't get reopened. "I-I don't have any money!". 

The robber pressed the knife closer against his throat as a warning to keep his voice down. "Put the lantern down and open your pack."

For a fleeting moment, he almost considered doing it. Then he realized that he absolutely did not want to know what the Beast would do to him on the off chance he got the lantern stolen. "I... can't!"

"Wanderer, you're not in the position to be calling the shots here. Put down the lantern!"

"No!"

The robber let out a frustrated snarl. "Listen pal, when I say-" He flipped Wirt around, knife still pointed at his neck... and abruptly stopped. "Oh... It's you!"

Wirt blinked. "Highwayman?"

The Highwayman nodded, loosening his composure, but not putting down the knife. "Yeah, you're the... Pilgrim, or the Young Lover... or whatever."

"Ha ha, yeah..." Wirt replied, attempting uneasily to defuse the situation, "That would be me."

The Highwayman shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't recognize ya."

He frowned. "You didn't recognize the cape and the big, red, pointed hat?"

"You coulda been anyone."

Wirt decided not to argue the issue any further. "Yeah, well, it was... interesting... to see you again." Why did the Highwayman still have that knife pointed at him? "I really should get going..."

"Not so fast, Pilgrim. We still got a score to settle."

Wirt wondered how casually he could unhook the Woodsman's axe from his belt without rousing suspicion. "...Sine when??"

"Since you stole my horse."

...Crap.

Looking back on the incident, and how Fred had been so eager to steal stuff the next morning at Endicott's manor, it really came as no surprise that he'd worked with the Highwayman.

"I didn't know he was yours!" Wirt put his hands in the air. "He was a talking horse! I thought... y'know, he was his own... person? ...Horse?"

The Highwayman sighed, and (finally) lowered his knife. "Pilgrim, the horse is dumber than a pile of bricks. He needs guidance." He paused for a moment, looking Wirt over. "Why are you carrying a lighted lantern around in broad daylight anyway?"

Wirt suddenly realized that, for all he wanted time away from the Beast, he really should've considered how holding a lantern would look during the day. He quickly searched his brain, trying to think of an a plausible, non-Beast-related answer for this, but what ended up tumbling out of his mouth was: "F-for... good luck!"

The Highwayman gave him an incredulous look. Wirt really couldn't blame him. Had he really just said that? "You carry a live lantern around during the day... for good luck."

_No, the soul of something that's pretty much a physical manifestation of despair lives in this lantern, and I traded my life to fuel and protect it so that I could save my brother. The Beast that you and your friends fear? The one that turns lost souls into trees to use as lantern fuel? Yeah, he's been following me in the shadows of the forest and is probably somehow watching us talk right now._

"...Yeah. I found it on the road. It keeps the bad stuff away." Maybe he would go easier on Wirt if he thought there was something mentally wrong with him. 

The Highwayman still looked a mixture of suspicious and baffled. Wirt bit his lip. "Heyyy!" He suddenly declared, hoping to get off the subject, "You're looking for your horse? I know where he is!" 

"You do?" The Highwayman asked, his expression changing to one of interest in the new subject (thank god).

Wirt nodded. "Last I heard, he was working for the Endicott-Grey tea company."

The Highwayman's face fell. "He has... a job now??" Then, just as quickly, his expression went back to default. "Never heard of 'em."

Wirt was more than a little taken aback by how the Highwayman could shift his moods and points of interest so jarringly. He recalled the time at the tavern when he abruptly broke into song. Of course, everyone at that tavern had, for the most part, been like that.

Nonetheless, it was still nice to see a familiar face. It was a face that had just tried to rob him, but it was a more welcome sight than the one he had pretty much sold his soul to. Might as well treasure it while he could. "They aren't too far from here, actually." he began, "I could show you the way, if you wanted to see him again and say hello, that is."

The Highwayman just shrugged. "Okay."

More of that weird shift. Whatever. Wirt had nothing (morally) better to do. He owed his "uncle" a visit, anyway.


	4. The Itch

What had begun as a simple 'stopping by to say hello' visit turned into a full-on dinner party mixed with tea time. Wirt was a tad puzzled as to how this had been arranged so suddenly, as he never saw any servants wandering the halls. For his own sake, he concluded that it was easier to just go with the event, rather than think too hard on it. This was the Unknown, after all. Many things were simply 'unknown.'

The chemistry between Quincy Endicott and Margueritte Grey had grown since he, his brother, and Beatrice had visited. It was interesting to see them converse and interact with each other, as he hadn't really seen much of Ms. Grey during their previous visit. Much like Endicott, Grey had gone nearly mad after spending so much time to herself in her half of the manor. However, her mannerisms from that time seemed more reserved than Endicott's. While he was excitable and sporadic around company, she was anxious and reticent. By no means was she ungrateful for their visit, she was simply more cautious when it came to communicating with visitors. They had both dealt with their madness in different ways, but were still grateful beyond comprehension that they finally had someone else to share that familiar madness with. How long had they been alone in their respective sections of the manor? How long had they been catching glimpses of the other's "ghost?" The paranoia experienced by Endicott had driven him to talk it off and act cheerful, as if nothing was wrong. Grey had dealt with the same paranoia by keeping her mouth shut, lest people start thinking her mad.

It seemed that their meeting had done wonders for each other since he'd had last been there; Endicott's tendency to fill silence with trivial banter had been slightly quelled, and Grey had become more relaxed and less wide-eyed when it came to conversation. While they were able to speak freely to each other, Endicott still occasionally went into meaningless ramblings to fill the gaps in conversation, and Grey still chose her words carefully when addressing her guests.

Now that they were certain that the other actually existed, and weren't a product of their own delusions, they were helping each other heal. Grey admired the way Endicott was able to speak so freely, and Endicott admired Grey's ability to listen to others and verbally withhold the thoughts that constantly ran through her head.

They never questioned Wirt's lantern.

The Highwayman hadn't said a word since they got here, except for his inquiry about where 'Getaway Horse' was. Fred had apparently gone to deliver a shipment to a local connoisseur, and it wasn't known when he'd be back. He then proceeded to pass the time by eyeing Endicott and Grey's various valuables. He still shifted his attention back to Wirt every now and again. Since learning that he and Endicott were "related," he seemed to consider where Wirt got his weird reasoning from. A little. He didn't need to know all the details.

Wirt hadn't even noticed the slight tremble his movements had slowly begun to take on...

"...And so," said Endicott, in the middle of a story that Wirt had totally zoned out of until just now, "I don't know how many days I was lost in the library. It had been so long since my last visit! Ha ha!" He turned to Grey, seated next to him at the table, "Margueritte, dear, do you remember if the library is located in your section of the manor or mine?"

She thought for a moment. "Which?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

"Non, non, which library?"

"Gracious! There's more than one??"

She shrugged. "I believe so."

He gave another jovial laugh. "Yes, yes. Well..." He turned back to Wirt, who was poking the food on his plate absentmindedly. "My dear nephew, how have you been faring since we saw you last?"

 _More terribly than you can imagine._ "I've been alright, I guess."

Endicott grinned. "Splendid! And what of young Gregory?"

Wirt stopped poking.

"Oui, oui!" Grey said, her eyes lighting up at the subject, "Why didn't you bring Gregory? We miss him so."

His eyes briefly flicked to the lantern, sitting on the floor to his right. He sighed. Of course they'd ask about Greg. He was the one that helped Endicott find Grey and actually treated them like relatives. Wirt and Beatrice, meanwhile, had spent the majority of their visit breaking things and getting stuck in an armoire.

_Greg's gone. None of us will probably ever see him again. Sorry._

Wirt sighed again. "He's just sick today, that's all."

"Oh, that's a shame." Said Endicott, frowning. "But do tell him we give him our best wishes and to get well soon!"

"I w-" Wirt was about to say 'I will' (lie) when he accidentally dropped his fork on his plate with a small 'clang.' "Sorry."

The Highwayman's eyes darted to him again.

Grey gave her would-be nephew a concerned look. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Wirt gave a forced smile. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Are you cold?" She cocked her head to the side. "You've been trembling since you arrived."

Had he?

He glanced at the lantern again. Oh no...

"I, uh..." Wirt stood up, taking the lantern with him. "I'll be right back."

He left the room hastily, down a hall he'd never been in. Anywhere to get away for the moment. He heard the distant sound of Endicott begin talking about something else not long after to fill the sudden silence. At least there was that distraction.

He looked down at himself. Yes, he was shaking. Wirt gave a frustrated groan. He didn't have to wonder why. He held the lantern up to observe the weird flame. He thought he'd have more time than this before the effects of... whatever it was the Beast did started happening. How long had it been since the Woodsman had fed the lantern anyway?

_Maybe he would've had more time for that if you and Greg hadn't been so-_

He pushed that thought aside, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand. He stopped the brisk walk he'd been on. It wouldn't help to get lost in this crazy manor, on top of everything else he had to worry about.

Maybe he was overreacting and all he needed was a glass of water, or to just walk it off.

He pushed his way through another doorway and found himself in some sort of packing room. One of many, he assumed. This one in particular held several workbenches with bushels of dried camellia sitting beside them. Packed barrels were stacked in the back end of the room. The equipment looked dusty and neglected, but the barrels and bushels looked like they had just recently been moved there. It unnerved him, just like the way dinner had suddenly been put together with nobody else seemingly present. He wondered why Endicott had been so petrified over Grey's "ghost" when it seemed like the whole manor was discreetly operated by them.

He was about to leave, when he took one last look at the workbenches. There were various packing mechanisms attached to them, but one particular type of device caught his attention: hand grinding mills.

He raised the lantern for a better look and walked closer. Each of the workbenches had individual grinders bolted to the sides of them. For grinding tea before shipment, he assumed. Most of them were large and iron, but there were a few benches in the back that had smaller, aluminum ones. He wondered: could they grind edelwood?

Wirt had been wondering how he was supposed to grind edelwood into oil without something to grind with. It seemed he had a solution to that problem now. There's no way he'd be able to lug one of the bigger grinders back to the forest with him, but the smaller ones...

He went over to one of them and began unscrewing the bolt at the bottom of it. After it was loosened enough, he pulled it from the bench and blew the dust off of it. It weighed about 7-8 pounds. Light enough to carry.

 

*

 

By the time he got back to the dining room, he noticed that Fred had, at some point in his absence, returned. He was currently seated in his former spot, next to the Highwayman. Endicott spotted Wirt and smiled. "Nephew!" He called, waving him over, "Our equine friend has returned! He was just telling us a delightful story about the things he saw on the way back!"

"I saw a rock that looked kinda like a shoe." Fred said.

The Highwayman groaned. "You sure this kinda work is right for you? We could always go back to doin' our thing like old times." He sounded somewhere between bored and sad.

Fred shook his head. "No thanks. I'm making an honest living now, thanks to these two." He motioned to Endicott and Grey. "It was fun and all, but I think I like being a tea horse too."

"Suit yourself." The Highwayman said, sounding only slightly disappointed, "Tell you what, if I catch you on the road, I won't give you trouble."

Wirt was getting a little more jittery, and it made him antsy to get out of there. "Yeah, well..." He held up the grinder. "Can I take this? Or at least borrow it for a while?"

The Highwayman gave him one of those looks again.

"Whatever for?" asked Grey.

 _To grind lost souls into oil for the monster that lives in my lantern._ "...Tea."

Endicott smiled again. "I certainly don't see why not. Why, I have a million of those things scattered about! Ha ha!"

Wirt gave a nervous laugh. "Ha ha, yeah... thanks..." He tucked the device into his belt. "Anyway... I should probably get going..." He shifted his shoes. "Gotta... check on Greg, you know?"

Endicott nodded. "Yes, yes, well, it was wonderful to see you again! Do come back soon!"

"And bring young Gregory with you!" Added Grey.

Wirt simply waved goodbye and left the room.

It wasn't until he'd made his way to the foyer that he heard a voice behind him say, "Not so fast, Pilgrim. You and I need to talk."

Wirt groaned and rolled his eyes, turning back to the Highwayman. "What now??"

The Highwayman pulled out his knife and brandished it casually. "I want you to know that if you ever go near the tavern again, I'll gut you like a stuck pig."

Wirt was taken aback by the sudden hostility. "WHAT?!"

"You think I'm an idiot?" The Higwayman took a step closer to him, causing Wirt to take a step back. "At first, I thought you were just crazy like those loons back there," he gestured back to where they had come from, "but I know what you're really up to."

"I-I..." Wirt began to sweat. "...don't know what you're talking abou-"

The Highwayman didn't let him finish. "The axe, the grinder, the _LANTERN_..." His motions with the knife became more aggressive. "I thought we made it clear to you last time that we all know the story of the Beast."

_Oh no..._

"I-it wasn't..!" Wirt tripped over his words, trying desperately to explain himself. "The Beast...! M-my brother, he was..! I couldn't..! I-I didn't have a choice-"

"Pilgrim, I don't care when, how, or why you started working for the Beast. The Tavern Keeper doesn't need your sort of trouble. None of us do." (Was that a hint of affection in his voice?) "Keep yourself, the dark lantern, and the Beast the hell away from the tavern." His voice deepened. "If I catch you showing your face around the there again, you're going to wish you were one of the Beast's creepy trees. You got me?"

Wirt was wide-eyed and shuddering at this point, and not just from the tremors that the lantern gave him. He gave the Higwayman a weak nod, who then turned around and stomped back to the dining room.

Well, if he didn't feel completely terrible before, he certainly did _now_.

He let out a shaky sigh and opened the front door. "You were wrong, Beatrice." He muttered to himself, "I'm not a hero here either."

 

*

 

It had almost grown completely dark by the time Wirt got back to the forest. He didn't know which direction he was taking through them. He didn't care.

He almost wasn't shocked when two dark, claw-like hands fell onto his shoulders. Almost.

"You've been gone quite a while." The Beast growled, gripping him tighter. "You've been neglecting your duties."

Wirt struggled out of his grip and turned around, glaring up into the Beast's glowing eyes. "I've had a hard day, alright?!" He huffed and pulled out the grinder from his belt. "...And I haven't neglected anything."

"Oh~" The Beast's tone shifted to one of keen interest as he eyed the device the boy held. "So resourceful." He looked back at Wirt, savoring the discomfort, anger, and sadness in his eyes. "You're shaking."

Wirt frowned. "No thanks to you."

The Beast hummed in agreement, and produced the branches he had torn from the Woodsman's tree earlier. "You can fix that."

Wirt glared again. "I told you, I'm not-"

"You don't have a choice." The Beast hissed in that angry tremor again, making Wirt shrink back. "The lantern is low on oil and your _itch_ will only grow worse the more you neglect it. Besides..." The tremor left his voice, taking on a more soothing tone. "...It's just a few branches. His tree still stands tall. These are insignificant compared to the other branches it sprouts." His voice dropped a pitch. "Remember your promise."

As much as Wirt hated to admit it, the Beast was right. This was his job now, right? This is what he had agreed to do. Plus, his shakes were getting even worse and it was driving him crazy. He let out a shuddered breath he didn't know he'd been holding and closed his eyes in defeat. "...Fine."

He set down the lantern and took the branches from the beast. He looked at the grinder in his other hand for a moment, more shudders running through him as he pondered the task he was about to do. He needed to sit down for this.

He sat down on the ground and held the grinder between his legs as he rifled through the Woodsman's pack, pulling out one of the small glass bottles. He took one of the branches and snapped it in half before sticking both pieces in the hopper, and held the bottle under the chute as he placed a shaky grip on the handle of the crank. Oh boy, he was really doing this. He bit the inside of his lip nervously and began to turn.

The pieces of the branch made a sick noise as they were ground up, even moreso when the dark, goopy oil emerged from the chute and dribbled into the bottle. The branch had filled it about halfway. Wirt put another branch in the hopper and filled the bottle. Capping it, he set it aside and pulled out another bottle. The next branch was thicker, and filled the bottle by itself. The last branch filled the next bottle by about two thirds.

The task complete, he set the grinder aside and pulled the lantern closer to him. After examining it for a few seconds, he unscrewed the cap to the font. He shakily pulled out the metal funnel from the pack and placed it in the font's portal.

Wirt felt the Beast kneel behind him and grip his shoulders again, this time in anticipation. Between the Beast touching him, his tremors, and what he was about to do, he felt like he was going to be sick or cry. Maybe both.

Wanting more than anything to get this over with, Wirt popped the cap on the first bottle and emptied it into the funnel.

He wasn't expecting the wave of relief that crashed over him from the action anymore than he expected the Beast to pull him closer, and gasped when both happened at the same time. After the initial shock had passed, Wirt wasted no time in emptying the other two bottles into the lantern. He felt warmth flood through his veins as the tremors stopped. Was it even possible to feel both refreshed and exhausted at the same time?

He felt himself flop backwards bonelessly as the Beast released him and stood up, not taking his glowing eyes off the boy. Wirt stared back up at him, noticing that the eyes of the Beast now glowed brighter than before.

"Good boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, the grinder Wirt uses looks something like this: http://i.imgur.com/7vs291n.jpg?1


	5. Spotlight

"Wirt."

"Wirt!"

He cracked open his eyes to the person calling his name. The world was a blur, and he felt drained, but the person calling him...

"Wirt!"

His eyelids fluttered, and he mustered the energy to open his eyes wider, flinching as his pupils adjusted to the sudden light.

"Wirt, you okay?"

...S... Sara...?

Wirt's mind attempted to rewind and slow itself down, as if it had just woken up from a terrible, very exhausting fever dream that he couldn't recall.

It was Sara. She was still in her Halloween getup. He blinked again, still trying to make sense of where he was and why Sara was here. She actually looked really concerned. What happened?

"Can you see me, Wirt?" 

Yes, he could see her. Very clearly now. What was going on? Why was his mind such a haze right now?

"...Where am I?"

Sara wore an expression that was both relieved and troubled. Wirt was still struggling to wake up, to try and figure out what had happened. He heard her say the word, 'hospital.'

"Hos...pital?"

It took him a moment... Then, in a flash, everything came back to him.

_The tape. The game. Sara. Greg. Tape. The party. Jason Funderberker. Cemetery. Sara. Greg. Police. Running. Scaling the wall. Sara and Jason. Tape. No! That's it. Over the wall. Greg and his stupid dad._

_Lights. Train. Oh no. Jump._

_Downhill._

_Water._

_WoodsLostTalkingbirdWoodsmanUnknownMillBeastnotthebeastBirdisbeatricePottsfieldSkeletonsAdelaideSchoolAnimalsPotatoesandmolassesAdelaideparadeStormTavernHighwaymanYoungloverPilgrimBewarethebeastSavebeatriceHorseWoodsmanBeatriceFredUncleendicott2centsStealingArmoireBeatriceGhostMsgrey2centsFerryFrogsAdelaideparadeRunFrogsBassoonOverthegardenwallBeatriceAdelaideAdelaideScissorsBeatriceTrapBeatricehowcouldyouBetrayalFrogLostWoodsmanBewarethebeastStormShelterTurtlesLornaTurtlesAuntiewhispersEscapeWickedlornaRingingofthebellGivingupWaterGregItsnouseNotgoinghomeLostforgoodGregDowhatyouwantColdcoldcoldGregSleepBeastGregGregSnowIceWaterColdcoldcoldBeatriceBearticefamilyDirtTreeBeastGregBeastBeatriceTreeGregTreeNononoBeastLanternBeastGregBeastPleasenoWoodsmanLanternBeastLanternGregTreeNonononoBeastGRegTreeBeASTBeastbEAStStopIlldoitPleaseMakeitstopBeastPleaseDEALGreggrEgGrEGGREGTRALALACHOPTHEWOODTOLIGHTTHEFIRE..._

"GREG!"

Wirt immediately sat bolt-upright. Stars swam in his vision at the shock of the sudden movement, but he couldn't care less about himself right now. He stared back at Sara almost in full-on panic mode; "Where's Greg?!"

"AND THEN..."

Wirt snapped his head to his right.

Greg. Greg was there. He was alive. He was alright. Oh, thank god...

His hair had been combed and he was wearing a fresh pair of hospital-issued pajamas. He was holding Jason Funderfrog in one hand while talking to the rest of his friends that had been present in the cemetery. They had come along too, to make sure Wirt and his little brother were alright. Even (human) Jason Funderberker, who was holding hands with a different girl. Not Sara. Sara was looking at him. Not Jason. Greg was okay. Everything was okay.

Jason Funderfrog was wearing a top hat and striped stockings, and still glowed from... someone's... bell when Greg shook him.

Wait, what?

Greg, enthusiastically, noticed his older brother had finally awakened. "WIRT! I was telling them about the time we almost got-"

Jason Funderfrog let out a croak in Greg's arm.

"Hahaha, yeah, and you were there too, Jason Funderberker!"

"Me??" Asked human Jason.

Greg scowled. "Not you; Jason Funderberker, my frog!"

Another croak.

" _Our_ frog." Wirt corrected, smiling at his brother from the bed.

Greg nodded in agreement. "Our frog."

"Our frog?" Asked human Jason.

Greg shook his head. "No, not YOUR frog..."

Wirt turned his attention back to Sara, who looked back at him sheepishly. "Hey, so..." She reached into her jacket and pulled out the cassette tape Wirt had made for her, "Uh... about this..?"

His state of mind now back in reality, Wirt was able to visibly cringe at the issue on hand.

"Yeah, so..." Sara shrugged. "I don't have a tape player. Sooo..."

Wirt closed his eyes. "Uh... yeah..."

"So..." Sara continued, "Maybe we could listen to this-"

Wirt finally mustered up the courage to smile and finish her sentence with, "You can listen to it at my house! Yes!"

Sara smiled at him.

Wirt's smile faded and he looked down, embarrassment and anxiety suddenly flooding through him, as it usually went for him in situations like this. Too much too soon? He started to freak out again, but this time, it was from the flutters that his heart was making, rather than... whatever it was he had panicked about earlier. His memory had blurred again. "Uh... Maybe we should listen to some other tapes first! ...And sort of work our way to this one! This one's a little bit-"

Sara stared at him, still holding the tape.

"I-I mean.." Wirt stammered, trying (and failing) to maintain his composure around his crush, "You can listen to it if you WANT to, but I-"

"Wirt." Sara interrupted him, giving him a genuine 'I-think-I-might-like-you-too' smile, "It's okay."

Wirt's heart fluttered again at that response, which caused him to blush and grin from ear to ear. It was the response he'd been fantasizing about all night, but never actually expecting to receive.

He'd been an idiot. He'd been stressing out over how he could possibly be *with* Sara, and stressing out about Jason Funderberker, even though she hadn't actually shown any interest in the latter boy. He'd been jealous of Jason; Wirt had the lyrical and poetic know-how to *want* to woo a girl, but Jason was the one who actually had the confidence to do what he wanted, never mind how socially awkward he might be to everyone else. He'd always admired that about him. Wirt was afraid to be himself, and Jason wasn't. In the end, all he ever had to do was tell Sara the truth, and he couldn't even do that.

...And yet, Sara was still here.

Funny how things work out.

He looked into her eyes again. He was no longer embarrassed by however he may have managed the situation in the past, but by his issues with his own self-confidence since the beginning. It was no longer an issue now. He had finally learned how to trust himself.

...How to trust his friends; how to trust _Sara..._

Sara slowly leaned over Wirt, hesitantly moving one of her hands over to Wirt's head. He reached his own hand up to cover her's as she tenderly cupped his cheek-

Wait.

Wait a second.

Though Wirt had never actually touched Sara, except for half-second collisions between classes and passing papers at school, he was fairly certain that her hands shouldn't feel this... weird...

Her hand slowly migrated from his cheek, to the back of his neck to fondle his hair. "What's wrong, Wirt?" She asked, a really weird tremor now present in her voice. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

No, this wasn't right. Something was seriously wrong. He began to panic as he felt Sara's grip tighten.

"And so..."

Wirt's eyes darted to his right, only do find Jason Funderfrog peering at him over the bed. "And so, the story is complete, and everyone is satisfied with the ending, and so on, and so forth..."

No...

"And yet..."

No no nonono...

"...Over the garden wall..."

...And then Sara's eyes _glowed._

 

_*_

 

_"NO!!"_

Wirt jerked awake in a cold sweat, sitting up as the Beast released his grip on his hair.

He was in the woods, on the ground, with the Beast perched next to him at his right. The lantern and his tools lay at his left. He clumsily scrambled away from both and collapsed again.

It took him a minute to catch his breath, before turning to the Beast with bloodshot eyes. "Wh...What were y-you doing?!"

The Beast tilted his head to one side. "I was just imagining what you'd look like covered in the roots of an edelwood."

Wirt didn't have time for this. He stood up shakily, hobbling away until he collapsed again against a tree just out of the range of the lantern's glow.

His face crumbled.

And then he cried.

Not a muffled, silent cry either. He was actually bawling this time. Like a baby. He'd been wondering when the fact that he was dead would finally really hit him, and right now, it was hitting him hard.

It could've been okay. It could've been alright. It wasn't as bleak as he thought it was when he and Greg had scaled the wall. Things could've been worked out. He could've talked to Sara. He could've improved himself. He could've fixed so many things. He could've apologized to Greg for all the stupid things he'd said about him and his stepdad, that he was proud to have him as a brother, that it was Wirt's fault that they had gotten lost in the-

...But he couldn't.

It was too late.

_It was just too late now._

He grabbed at his hair and screamed as another round of tears spilled from his eyes.

He'd never get to tell Sara how he felt. He'd never go on a date with her. He'd never see his friends or family ever again. He'd never be able to listen to his favorite types of music and read his favorite books again. He'd never get to watch Greg grow up and have a family of his own. He'd never become the famous poet he always dreamed of being. He'd never-

_Too late. Can't go back._

Wirt screwed his eyes shut.

Just let me wake up in the hospital... Or my bed... By the river... Anywhere but here. This is wrong... This has to be another nightmare... I swear I'll do anything, just let me wake up and-

_You left what remained of your chance at waking up again at the bottom of the river._

No... please no... This isn't happening...

_It already happened, Wirt._

"...No..."

_You're dead. You are dead. You're dead and you can't go back._

He stayed there, slumped against the tree, sobbing loudly for some time. It could've been thirty minutes. It could've been an hour. It could've been two. He wasn't keeping track. Did it even matter anymore?

At some point, his sobs began to dissipate, and he was eventually left trembling quietly in the dark. His grief was still fresh, overwhelming, and horrifying, but he hadn't the energy to cry about it anymore. At least, not at the moment.

During times like these, before he had come to the Unknown, he would comfort himself by reciting one of the many bits of poetry he had memorized, depending on the context and situation that had gotten him down. His brain was a library for various poems, quotes, and musings. Unfortunately, in this instance, he was lost. As much poetry as there was on death, it had been written by living people, not dead.

_'Death therefore, the most awful of evils, is nothing to us seeing that when we are, death is not come, and when death is come, we are not.' said Epicurus._

_Liar... I'm still here..._

"Who's Sara?"

He didn't turn around, but he could feel the Beast looming over him, lantern in hand; The last thing he wanted to see right now. Sara's name had probably been uttered in his sleep at some point, and now the Beast was curious. Great. 

"...Nobody."

"You said the name too endearingly for me to believe that." He could almost hear the smirk in the Beast's voice.

The monster had a nasty habit of using anything he learned about you against you, Wirt had learned. It had worked on the Woodsman, it had worked on him, and it had even worked on Greg. He knew he shouldn't have even answered, but he was feeling very emotionally shattered right now, and wasn't in a state to be thinking logically. The Beast knew that. Wirt knew he did.

He continued after Wirt remained in silence; "A lady friend I assume?" He lifted the lantern closer to Wirt, who still had his back turned. "Someone you left things unsaid to? Another soul you left behind forever so that your pathetic brother could-"

At last, Wirt turned around and glared up at the Beast, his cheeks stained with tears. "Just... Leave... Me..."

He grabbed the Lantern from the Beast, who had all but held it a foot from where Wirt stood. Intending to shove the stupid thing back at him and leave, he whirled it around, shouting, "ALO-"

 

...

 

It wasn't until after Wirt stopped screaming, and the image that the lantern had illuminated vanished into the darkness, did he realize that the Beast had screamed too.

His eyes remained wide open in sheer terror. He didn't move a muscle, even though he was trembling from several unpleasant emotions at once. A part of him was yelling at him to run, but he was too freaked out to even do that. The fury he possessed a moment ago was suddenly gone, leaving a profound, raw sense of fear in its place.

What... on earth... had he just...

It had happened so quickly. HOW had it happened?? The Beast had stood in the light of the lantern before. He never remembered seeing...

It only lasted two, maybe three seconds, but it was enough that he could replay the event slowed down in his memory. He had a brief glimpse at his face before the Beast's arms shot up to protect himself, as if he had just been blinded or burned. He couldn't recall the exact details, except that his face was definitely terrifying, and he was pretty sure he had no lips or nose. It was too quick to tell. The face of a badly-preserved mummy came to mind. A mummy with glowing eyes and branch-like antlers.

However, the thing that truly stuck with him wasn't the _Beast's_ face, but the faces on the Beast's _body_. Contorted, inhuman faces, like the ones on an edelwood, but slightly more defined. There were so many. Were they the faces of the lost souls that fueled his lantern? The thought made Wirt's blood run even colder.

It was about five minutes later when he finally moved. He held the Lantern close, looking in every direction around him. Nothing. It had gone way too quiet, even for the isolation the forest provided. It made him all the more anxious. The unnatural scream of the Beast echoed in his mind. He wondered: was the Beast hurt? He must've been to scream like that. The light of the lantern still shone brightly, so he knew he hadn't inadvertently killed him.

Ten minutes went by. Still nothing. Wirt had managed to calm down a little. Cautiously, he made his way back to where his tools and belt lay, and set the lantern down.

...Big mistake.

As soon as he let go of the lantern, the Beast, with an otherworldly roar, leapt out of the darkness and tackled him to the ground. Before he could even think of fighting back, he found himself pinned. the Beast held down his upper arms in a death grip on either side as he stared down at the boy. His face was inches from his and his eyes glowed with a malevolent light.

"DON'T YOU EVER..." The Beast growled, that angry tremor once again present in his voice, "DON'T YOU EVER. DO THAT. AGAIN."

It took Wirt a moment to get his wind back. Even then, he was still at a loss for words. "I... I don't... W-what did I...?" 

The Beast lowered his voice, yet still held his angry tremor. "The light from the lantern is... unpleasant... up close." This was clearly a subject he had hoped to avoid. "Do _not_ make that mistake again."

Wirt quirked an eyebrow. "But... it's _your soul_ that's in the-"

The Beast released the hand holding Wirt's right arm to aggressively cup his mouth, his claws threatening to dig through Wirt's cheeks. "You don't need to know anymore than what you are told."

Wirt used his free hand to grab at the Beast's arm that muffled him. His stomach flipped at the touch of the many weird textures he found there, now that he had a better idea of what they were. Three of his fingers sank into holes, which he assumed were the one of the many mouths or eye sockets of the faces that covered his captor. This earned him a sound of discomfort from the Beast, who promptly held Wirt's arm back down, releasing his mouth.

The action have given Wirt a slightly-renewed sense of courage against the monster. After a few shuddered breaths, he glared back into the glowing eyes and defiantly said, "If someone else carried my soul around and took care of it, especially if it could be snuffed out like a candle, I'd treat them with a little more respect!"

The Beast went completely silent and drew back slightly after the boy's rather bold assertion. Wirt took that as a small victory for himself.

That was his second mistake.

As the Beast continued to hold him down, Wirt became aware of a weird shifting feeling he felt below the ground he lay upon. Moments later, to his horror, he felt the fresh, strong vines of edelwood take hold of his limbs and begin to consume him in the same way he had seen them consume Greg. Any boldness he had left in him quickly evaporated, and his anxiety was back in full force. He attempted to thrash and struggle against the growth, but the most he could do was shake his head from side to side. Once the roots reached his neck, that ability was taken away too. There was nothing else he could do except shut his eyes tight and frantically mutter "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" as he waited for the end.

...But the end never came.

He opened his eyes again, staring up at the Beast who still knelt over him, but was no longer holding him down. He no longer had to. The Beast stared back.

"Allow me to clear up several misconceptions you seem to have..." he began, his voice tense, "You are not from the Unknown. Wherever you came from, you can't go back. You are _dead._ " He leaned in closer. "It takes a little while to accept, but eventually, everyone does. I saw the way you despaired about the fact earlier. You know. I know. However, let me ask you this, _Wirt_..." The Beast spat out his name like a bad taste, tightly grabbing a fistful of the hair on his head and causing the boy to let out a pained gasp. "Do you know why you have not yet become a tree, despite how low you may sink into your pit of despondency? Do you know what the thing standing between the life you have left and your assimilation into an edelwood is?" He narrowed his glowing eyes. Wirt shuddered.

"ME." He growled, "The reason you haven't succumbed to the soil of the Unknown is because I _choose_ not to let it happen. I am the Beast. I am the king of these forests. The Unknown takes what it wants, but I have the power to quell it. If it weren't for me, you and your brother would have become edelwoods before sunrise." His grip on his hair tightened. "If my flame goes out, so does yours. Nothing will prevent you from becoming anything more than distorted, oily tinder. You think you're in charge because you hold the lantern? Ha! It holds _your_ fate just as much as it holds _mine_."

It took a minute to for Wirt to let all that information soak in his mind; more of a struggle than it probably would've been had the Beast not had his claws tugging painfully at his scalp. Doing his best to ignore the pain, he wrestled his brain into staying focused on the issue at hand...

_Better be wise_

_Don't believe his lies_

It was a betting game not unlike Russian roulette. The Beast could be lying, and Wirt could potentially go on the way he had been without the lantern. On the other hand, if the Beast were telling the truth, Wirt could end up being one of many undead trees in the Unknown for god-knows-how-long. Would he be dead then? ...Or would he be victim to a more nightmarish version of locked-in syndrome? Pascal's wager was far more challenging when faced with it directly.

"How..." Wirt's voice cracked, "How am I supposed... to believe you?"

The Beast lowered his head until it was an inch away from Wirt's, making the boy inwardly squirm. When he whispered, his voice was full of venom. "What choice do you have?"

...

...Damn it.

Wirt shut his eyes in frustration. Damn it all.

The Beast let go and stood up. A moment later, Wirt felt the edelwood that bound him go brittle and dry, cracking and crumbling at his movements. Just like Greg's tree had done after Wirt had made the deal. He didn't even get up at first, choosing instead to roll to his side and curl up slightly in the dead timber. He mumbled something to himself.

"What was that?" The Beast asked.

Wirt gave him a dejected look. "I said, they've promised that dreams can come true, but forget to mention that nightmares are dreams too." Oscar Wilde.

"Is that right?" The monster above him condescendingly replied, giving a dark chuckle, "In that respect, _Pilgrim_ , let me say that I am more than _honored_ to be your dream come true."


	6. Bianca

Two days passed. Wirt's tremblings were back. Unfortunately, he didn't know if it was because of the lantern, or because the only thing he'd eaten in the past 48 hours was a handful of raspberries from a bush he'd found. The heavy emotions and thoughts wracking his brain, along with his reluctant urge to find another edelwood had done a good job of taking away his appetite. He knew, however, on top of the trouble he'd have later with the lantern, that there was no way he could continue on like this. He had to find somewhere to get a decent meal, and possibly a place to sleep that wasn't the ground.

_You're dead, remember? The ground is the perfect place for you to sleep._

Gallows humor. It was better than the continuous, numbing despair he'd been feeling, but it still disturbed him to have thoughts like that.

The grieving process was far more difficult than he had imagined. Dealing with loss alone was hard enough, but where did you even start when it came to mourning _yourself?_  

Wirt ended up taking some time to himself in a sunny area next to a small brook. Being around the Beast while trying to get these thoughts in order did him no favors. It was calm here, and there was something oddly therapeutic about listening to the low gurglings of the flowing water. 

He wiped his newly-dampened eyes with his sleeve. It wasn't necessarily his physical death that upset him the most, but the death of all his dreams and aspirations in a place that he once called 'home.' His friends, his family, and even his enemies, he missed. The possibilities of how he could get by in that familiar place he had been born into and had barely even explored.

Gone.

He remembered reading somewhere that most people who survived suicide attempts by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge regretted their decision midair, realizing that their unfixable problems in life were actually completely fixable. That last glimmer of hope was what changed their minds. Unlike Wirt, however, those people had been lucky enough to get it back.

Regrets he couldn't fix. Dreams that would remain dreams and nothing more. The death of hope for his previous life. That's ultimately what he was mourning.

_He is the death of hope._

_..._

Wirt didn't know if the irony in his situation was poetic or just cruel. Maybe both. He was mourning the death of hope while keeping alive a monster who fed off of and pretty much symbolized the concept. Losing hope to keep its death alive. Sigh. If Wirt wasn't feeling completely miserable and exhausted right now, he'd be tempted to write a poem about this.

He knew that recovering from grief required some type of method of coping, but here, he just didn't know how. If he were back home, dealing with loss of some sort, he'd probably be lamenting it to his therapist, which his mom and stepdad had been so insistent upon him seeing anyway. That or writing about it to himself in his journals.

Who was there to talk to here? He'd briefly entertained the thought of trying to track down and reunite with Beatrice, since she was the only one in this forest he really knew and considered a friend. He missed her. He really missed her. She was all he had left in terms of acquaintances that he still had the possibility of confiding in. Unfortunately, much to his chagrin, he realized that this idea was probably a bad one. 

The Highwayman had threatened to kill him if he went near his friends at the tavern again, due to the fact that Wirt was now associated with the Beast, and he didn't want the Beast anywhere near them. Wirt sighed. As much as it pained him, he understood. The Beast followed him everywhere from the shadows of the forest. Even if he couldn't see him, he knew in his gut that the monster was out there, somewhere nearby. If he tracked down Beatrice, she or her family could be in danger of his influence. He remembered the way the Beast had been led Greg astray until he was too weak to carry on. That could be one of Beatrice's siblings. Beatrice herself had seen him make the deal. She was headstrong and might make it her new mission to free Wirt somehow, now that her family was safe. He knew she would.

He knew.

_"What if I became your servant?" Beatrice asked Adelaide, backing away on the ground from the towering old woman. It was the first thing Wirt witnessed as he peered in through the door of the cottage that he'd seen Beatrice fly into._

_"Pah!" Adelaide scoffed, "I need a big, strong child!"_

_"You can turn me into a human, can't you?" Beatrice pleaded._

_The old woman thought for a moment, cocking an eyebrow before her eyes lit up. "Oh, yes!" She brandished the strange, gold scissors again. "Scissors!" She snipped at the air with a small flair._

_"Yeah, yeah..." Beatrice's tone became slightly more desperate, "So, give me the scissors, I'll go help my family-"_

_It was at that point that Wirt, completely befuddled by the situation, decided to enter._

_...And then everything went to hell._

Wirt grimaced at the memory. He'd played it over and over again in his head many times since the incident. Knowing what he knew now, he felt a bit more understanding of why Beatrice had done what she did. It still stung, but he understood.

The fate of Beatrice's family was on her shoulders because of a stupid decision she made. She'd met him and Greg as 'two lost kids with no purpose in life,' which she needed for a deal she made with Adelaide that would set her family free. She'd been hostile towards them at first, not wanting to get too close and to get her end of the bargain over with. Feelings for him and his brother had blossomed anyway, as much as she fought it. By the time she'd made her way back to Adelaide's, she was willing to trade _herself_ for the freedom of both her family and her newest companions.

_What if I became your servant?_

It was hard not to draw parallels between Beatrice's situation with Adelaide, and the one he currently had with the Beast. He needed lost souls too. Wirt agreed to help the monster find them so that he could save Greg. Luckily for Beatrice, Adelaide ceased to be a problem after the incident at her cottage. She was free now.

He remembered the look in Beatrice's eyes when he struck the deal with the Beast. Horror. Heartbreak. Regret. She understood why Wirt did what he did, but still hated that it had happened. She knew what it was like to be that desperate to save your loved ones. Maybe she was beating herself up over the fact that it was Wirt who had to seal that deal, and not her.

_What if I became your servant?_

Wirt knew, if she knew where Wirt was, she would try to help him. She'd try to defeat the Beast, or worse... make a deal with him. She was stubborn like that. He couldn't let that happen. This was his burden. As much as the thought of never seeing Beatrice again pained him, he knew it was for the best.

It was settled. The possibility of him and Beatrice talking was out of the question.

That left the Beast.

_...Might as well try to put out a fire with gasoline while you're at it._

Yeah, no.

The Beast already took whatever made Wirt miserable and rubbed it back in his face. He could see the way the Beast's eyes narrowed in glee when he struck a new nerve with Wirt. That's just the way he was; feeding off of hopelessness and relishing in misery. He tortured Wirt enough from what he already knew about him. Lamenting his woes to the Beast would only make his situation _at least_ ten times worse.

He groaned and laid down in the grass, covering his eyes with one arm. "I'm just like... a boat." A poem he'd written shortly before his trip over the wall came to mind. Maybe he could just mumble to himself for the rest of eternity. "... _sunken_ to the bottom of a river. The endless black sea has already claimed me."

He tried to ignore how much he wanted to hear Beatrice call him a dork right then.

...Or for Greg to tell him a rock fact.

_To make a bad day worse, spend it wishing for the impossible._

 

*

 

It was later in the evening when Wirt was nearly struck by a wagon.

He'd been walking down a dirt path through the forest for several hours. The Beast hadn't spoken to him or even shown his presence all day. Well... good. He hadn't wanted to deal with the grief that the Beast's twisted sense of humor brought him today... or any day, for that matter.

The Beast hadn't even spoken to him much the day before, either. Since the incident with the lantern...

...Of which he reeeally did not want to think about right now.

He was suddenly rattled from his tumultuous thoughts when the whinny of a mule sounded loudly behind him. Luckily for him, his reflexes were swift enough to signal him to dive out of the way and into the grass just in time, clutching the lantern close like one of the jocks at his school would cradle a football during a tackle. Its hot metal burned, and he released it with a yelp. The grinder on his belt dug painfully into his pelvis and the bottles in his pack clanked together loudly. He prayed that they weren't broken, even though it was enough of a miracle that his axe hadn't taken a bite out of his side.

The wagon came to a halt shortly thereafter.

He held up his hands to see how badly the lantern had burned him. Strangely enough, there were no blisters, red marks, or any damage to speak of. Even his clothes were dirtied only by the dirt and grass, not burned or blackened. What in the..?

...He'd worry about it later.

"Watch where you're going!" Wirt yelled, getting up and dusting his clothes off. He picked the lantern back up from where it had rolled. No surprise that it was fine. He knew for a fact that the blasted thing could take a beating.

The driver of the cart disembarked and turned towards the teen. "Best be payin' attention to yer surroundins', boy." The man spoke with a thick southern drawl. He had unkept red hair with a short beard to match, and his clothes were that of a poor, rugged hunter. "Wut'chu doin' way out in these parts?"

Wirt scowled. "I'm lost. I was hoping to find a town... or, somewhere... along this road."

"Lost?"

 _That's what I just said._ "...Yes."

The hunter let out a low whistle. "Folks don't usually last too long out here when they's lost." He looked Wirt over again. "Lucky I came across ya when I did. Yer not lookin' too good."

"Yeah..." Wirt's expression softened and he shrugged his shoulders. "Could you maybe give me a ride  to the nearest town? ...Or at least give me directions?"

The man shook his head. "Nearest town's a day or two away. Yer better off coming back with me to my ma's place."

The boy blinked. "Really? She'd be okay with that?"

"Sure would! A real peach, she is. She'd never turn down a frail, wanderin' kid like yerself!" He motioned to the back of his wagon. "Hop in and I'll have us there in a jiffy."

If his time in the Unknown had taught him anything, it was that he should probably be more suspicious of the situations such as these. For all he knew, this guy might be some sort of bandit or cannibal. Then again, he could also just be a kind stranger who's rightfully concerned about people who get lost in the Unknown.

_...Like the Woodsman was._

He pushed the thought aside.

"Thanks." Wirt said simply, accepting the invitation and climbing aboard the wagon.

 

*

 

It had grown almost completely dark by the time they reached their destination.

"MA!" The man yelled out as he and Wirt entered the cottage, "Brought home some company, Ma!"

An elderly Asian-looking woman in a floral changyi stormed in from another room, glaring at the red-haired man with an intense hatred that made Wirt shrink back. "I'M NOT YOUR BLOODY 'MA!!" she shouted. "I thought I told you to leave me alone and never come back here again!!"

The man chuckled, elbowing the unnerved teen in the shoulder. "Gotta love her sense a' humor, dont'cha? Takes some gettin' used to, but ya learn to laugh."

_Oh god, what did I get myself into now?_

The woman turned her attention to the boy and scowled. "Who are you?!"

Wirt fumbled for words. "I... uh..."

"Found this here youngun lost n' wandering through the woods!" The man answered for him. "Lucky I found 'im, or he prolly woulda been captured by the Beast!"

The corner of Wirt's mouth twitched. "M-my name is Wirt, Ma'am." He said, extending his hand to shake hers. After a moment of her just staring at him, he awkwardly pulled it back. "I... was hoping I could get something to eat here. ...Or directions to where I could-"

"You reek of death." She suddenly deadpanned.

_Well, if this wasn't weird before..._

Wirt put on his best fake smile. "S-sorry, I... guess I could use a bath too! Eheh..."

He was interrupted from his anxiousness as the man gave him a hard slap on the back and laughed. "Y'see, boy? Now yer gettin' it!" He turned towards the door with a flourish, waving after his baffled houseguest. "Imma bag me a couple a' squirrels and then we can get a nice stew going for y'all. I won't be long!" And with that, he was gone.

Wirt looked back at the old woman, only to find her bustling back into the room she had emerged from. "Hey... Wait!" he called, following after her into what was apparently the kitchen. She sturdied herself over the kitchen washstand, glaring into it, but not actually doing anything.

He sighed. He really didn't want to get involved in any more trouble than he already was.

"Look... I'm sorry if I caught you at a bad time, but if you could just give me directions to-"

"Bianca." The woman suddenly said.

"...Pardon?"

"Bianca Lin. That's my name." She turned back to Wirt and crossed her arms, studying him carefully. "How did you get caught up with Harold?"

He assumed that to be the name of the red-haired man. "I'm... lost. I haven't eaten in days. He... _Harold_ nearly ran me over with his wagon and invited me back here." He heard Bianca let out a scoff at that. "He told me you were his mother, but-"

He was interrupted when Bianca suddenly reached up and plucked three hairs from his head.

"OW! What the heck?!" Wirt yelled, staggering back and clutching his scalp protectively.

"Do me a good turn and you just might thank me for that." Bianca said, tucking the hairs away in her pocket. "Found Harold not too long ago, mourning the death of his mother. His real mother. Managed to convince him that I was his mother so that I would have some help around here, but he's been nothing but a nuisance." She waved a hand quickly across her face, now suddenly portraying the look of a sullen, elderly white woman with curly grey hair. With another wave of her hand, she changed back. "Little trick I picked up in my youth."

Wirt balked. Not that it was entirely unexpected in a place like the Unknown, but it still shocked him. The implications for what she had used it for were even more troubling. "That... that's terrible!"

She shrugged. "You've got to take any help you can get around here. Listen, I've tried telling him that it was a trick, but the fool's horribly touched in the head and refuses to believe me, no matter what I look like. Now I'm stuck with him." She took a few steps towards Wirt. "Listen child, if you can help me get rid of him for good, Ol' Bianca will owe you a favor."

"I... don't think I want any favors from you."

The old woman huffed, looking him over disapprovingly. "You're trembling something fierce... Wirt, was it? You're starving, and you look a complete mess. Just look at yourself." She motioned towards the various stains and small tears in Wirt's clothes that he had acquired since coming here. "At least let me offer you a bowl of soup first. You look like you're about to drop dead on my clean floor."

Wirt made a face. Did he really look that terrible?

He sighed. "...Fine. Soup, I mean."

Bianca led him to her dining room, where he was seated at a round, ornate rosewood table. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow the bizarre combination of Qing Dynasty decor and country rusticity that seemed to theme her small home. A few minutes later, Bianca returned and set down a large, steaming bowl of soup in front of the teen. She sat down next to him, evidently not having any herself. He would've questioned her about this if he hadn't been so incredibly hungry.

Two poached eggs had been scooped into Wirt's bowl, atop a thick broth of sticky rice and chopped vegetables. Wirt's mouth watered as he lifted a spoonful of the amazing-smelling soup to his lips. Luckily, it tasted just as amazing as it smelled. Within five minutes, his bowl was empty.

Wirt looked back up at Bianca, who had been observing him silently. Should he feel embarrassed that he ate it so quickly? Probably, but he found it hard to care right now, so long as she wasn't objecting. "Thank you." He said, giving her a genuinely grateful smile. "That was delicious."

Bianca gave a small smile back. "Where are you from, Wirt?"

"I, ah..." Wirt averted his eyes. "...Not from around here."

"An outsider, eh?" She eyed the lantern at Wirt's feet. After another minute or so, she looked back up at the boy with a strange sense of both understanding and wariness in her eyes. "You're still trembling."

Wirt flinched at that, reeeaally not wanting another person to be 'in-the-know' about what he was doing, but getting the sense that he'd get no such wish with Bianca. She was an old woman living isolated in the unknown. She probably knew all the stories of the Beast.

Now that his appetite was sated, there was nothing left to distract him from the anxious feeling that his nerves seemed to be on fire with, and his tremblings were now growing even worse. He shakily set down his spoon and gripped his seat, trying his best to keep from unnecessarily rattling anything else. Shutting his eyes tight, he tried to will away the feeling that ate at him, even though he knew no such luck would exist for him.

Addiction. That's what the Beast's so-called 'binding' was. His teachers had discussed addiction in school, about how hard it was to fight something like alcohol, cigarettes, or hard drugs off once you became dependent on them. He recalled how the Beast had said that the only thing preventing him becoming an edelwood was him. The Beast's soul lived in the lantern. He didn't trust Wirt to keep it lit based on a promise, so he'd gotten him dependent on the damnable thing.

"Wirt." Bianca's voice startled him from his thoughts. "How good are you in a fight?"

He blinked and gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

"Can you run fast? Can you fight if you need to?"

Wirt shifted in his chair, now more uncomfortable than he was before. "Uh... why??"

A mischievous, yet cautious look crossed her face. "I think I know a way where my little predicament might benefit us both." She slid out of her chair, winked at him, and walked back to the kitchen. "Don't get me wrong; I'll still owe you a favor when all is said and done!"

Wirt didn't know what he should be doing in this situation, so he remained planted in his seat. His tremors intensified when he saw Bianca emerge from the kitchen with a cleaver.

She laughed at the look on his face. "Don't you worry, child. I won't hurt you." She looked over at the front door. "If I know that fool, he should be back from checking his ruddy traps any minute."

Wirt gave her a look. "What does that have to do with-"

He didn't even make it through that thought when Bianca gave herself a shallow cut across the breast, through the changyi she wore. She hissed at the pain and scowled as she looked down to watch blood blossom through her clothes. "Such a shame. I liked this outfit."

"Wha- STOP THAT!!" Wirt shouted, aghast at what the older woman was doing. She chuckled to herself before producing another shallow cut on her arm, the sleeve slicing and hanging, allowing for a full view of the newest gash on her skin.

Wirt panicked and grabbed the cleaver from her, balking at the satisfied look that crossed her face when he did so. "I left the back door in the kitchen open. I'm truly sorry about this, child, but again, you may thank me later."

_What is she even..._

At that moment the front door opened. "Only one catch today, Ma. I prolly coulda caught another if I-" Harold froze as he caught sight of Wirt, standing over the bleeding woman, cleaver in hand. 

Wirt paled as he watched the sudden look of sheer malice bloom in Harold's eyes. "No, nononono, this isn't... I'm not-"

He was cut off from Bianca's voice as she stared at Harold in faux desperation. "HAROLD, MY BOY, HELP ME!!!"

The next moment went by in a flash. Harold leaping onto (and breaking) the table, Bianca shouting out in annoyance, Wirt grabbing the lantern, and making a break for it out the back door. The cleaver was discarded at some point, but he couldn't care less.

 

*

 

Wirt didn't know he could even run this fast, as he dashed from the cottage and back into the forest, with Harold screaming bloody murder not far behind. The fight or flight instinct in him was more powerful than he could've imagined.

It was then, in a panic, that he realized he had no chance of hiding in the darkness of the forest. So long as he held this stupid lantern out in the open, he was a moving target. With a snarl, he tugged his cloak around the lantern while pulling the infernal thing against his body. He shrieked as the hot metal burned through his clothes, trying his hardest to remind himself that it hadn't actually physically burned him the last time he'd done this.

...Goddammit, it glowed through the cloak...

He let out another pained groan as he clasped a hand over the hot, glowing glass of the lantern. He raised his free hand to bite down on his index finger, to prevent him from outright screaming.

Physical scarring or no, it didn't take away from the molten pain he was currently suffering. Feeling tears prick at his eyes, he dodged behind a tree, doing his best to conceal both the light and his heavy breathing. The tremors soared through his nerves from the lantern's silent, yet incredibly loud plea for oil.

"I KNOW YER OUT THERE, BOY!!" Harold shouted, somewhere within the darkness behind him, "NO USE HIDING NOW! YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MA!!!"

Wirt shuddered, trying his hardest to withhold the sobs bubbling in his throat at both the phantom sizzling of his skin and the sheer terror of impending death. The death he had already experienced had been peaceful and at his own willingness. This time, it was full of terror and uncertainty; the way death was probably supposed to be. The lantern let out a low hiss against his body. He didn't know when he'd shouted out for help. He didn't know when he'd been located and pinned against a tree. He only stared up through bloodshot eyes as Harold held his hunting knife against the boy's throat.

"My ma always warned me about being too trusting with strangers." Harold seethed, pressing the blade deeper against the flesh of Wirt's jugular. It wasn't cutting just yet, but one more push and he would be done for. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for that final cut.

Two sickening cracks and a muffled scream echoed though his ears as the pressure against his neck was suddenly released.

He opened his eyes...

Nothing.

A loud moan from below signaled Wirt to look down. Harold stared back up back up at him, collapsed on the ground as both his legs were angled unnaturally at the knees. His knife was missing. The hatred in his vision hadn't diminished, but it was now accompanied by abject horror.

He looked back up.

Two familiar glowing eyes stared back.

"Boy..." Harold whispered, "Run."

Wirt didn't move.

"Planting seeds." The Beast muttered, navigating around the crippled man to stand at Wirt's side. He set his two dark, clawed hands onto Wirt's shoulders in an incredibly possessive manner. "Not merely seeking out the forbidden plant, but outright _cultivating_ it."

Wirt didn't understand what the Beast was talking about.

Harold's eyes zeroed in onto Wirt's "You... You work for the Beast!" 

"I..." Wirt was at a loss for words.

_I'm sorry._

Harold grabbed at Wirt, clawing at his belt and shirt in an attempt to climb up. Wirt panicked and kicked him back down, much to the amusement of the Beast, who laughed. The boy frowned. He didn't see anything funny about a hurt, insane man.

"Why..." Harold tried again to speak, getting his wind back from the kick to the gut, "WHY WOULD YOU HURT MY MA?!"

"SHE'S NOT YOUR MOM!!" Wirt suddenly yelled. He'd surprised himself just as much as Harold with that outburst. He stood silent a moment, then lowered his voice: "She's... a w-witch, or something. Your real mom died a long time ago, and she... Bianca... used her magic to make you think she was her so that you would do favors for her."

Harold's eyes widened before narrowing again in suspicion. "Can't believe the Beast's lies."

"I'm not the Beast!" Wirt accosted, "He..." He looked back up at the Beast, who only stared back, almost expectantly. He shook his head in frustration, focusing his attention back on Harold. "...It's a long story. Look..." He knelt down, out of range of the Beast's grip, but at eye level with the crippled man. "She looks nothing like you. She can change her face, and she probably really did look like your mom at some point. Think about it, though; she looks nothing like her now, does she? Don't you remember mourning your real mom?"

It took a minute, but a sullen look of realization slowly crossed Harold's face. Tears pricked at his eyes. "Cramp colic... I couldn't save her... She was all I had." He sniffled, shaking in a rush of sudden grief. "She showed up again one day like nothin' had happened. I thought had just been a terrible dream..." He attempted to draw his legs against himself, only to shriek in pain once his dismantled joints made their presence known again. His hands shot up to his face and clawed holes into the flesh he found out of sheer frustration. He couldn't handle so many emotions all at once. It was suddenly far too much, far too soon for him.

It was then, to Wirt's horror, that he noticed the that the roots of edelwood had sprouted from the soil and had begun to creep up Harold's legs. The boy scrambled closer to the crying man, who was now curled up in himself. "Don't..! The edelwood will...!"

"I'm a fool..." Harold whimpered in despair. His arms cradled his head, and the tree hastened its growth the more the man sank into his own anguish. "I just wanted... one more chance to..." The man whimpered, resigning himself to his fate. "I'm a fool..."

Flashbacks of his brother played through his memory, and Wirt found himself at his wit's end. He gaped back up at the Beast in desperation. "...DO SOMETHING!!"

The Beast gave a dark chuckle at the boy's plea, and Wirt realized, all too late, that he had made another grave mistake.

_No, I mean..._

"COOOME WAAAYWARD SOUUULS..." The Beast sang out, leaving Wirt's side to twirl around in the gloom of the woods, "WHO WAAANDER THROUGH THE DAAAARKNESSS..."

Wirt scrambled over and grabbed Harold's shoulders, giving them a rough shake. "Listen to me, Harold..!"

"THERE IIIS A LIIIIGHT FOR THE LOOOST AND THE MEEEEEEEK..."

"Ignore him!" Wirt yelled at the now-sobbing man. The sapling had rapidly covered Harold's lower legs and twirled over his thighs and belly. "It's not over!"

"SOOORROW AND FEEEAAAR ARE EEEASILY FORGOOOOOTEEEEENNN..."

"It wasn't your fault, Harold!" Wirt got up and attempted to tug the man up with him, but the tree held strong. Harold himself showed no desire to get up anyway. Still, the boy persisted. "She wouldn't want this for you!"

"WHEN YOOOOUUU SUBMIIIIIT..."

There was no doubt in Wirt's mind that the Beast's song contributed to the edelwood's consumption rate, whether it fed off the depression of its host, or by the Beast's influence. Maybe it was both. Wirt screwed his eyes shut and pulled at Harold's arms again. They'd uncurled from the man's face, but his teary, bloodshot eyes stared off into nothingness. The boy knew that he, himself would be beyond depressed had his own mother died before him, but it seemed as if it was all Harold had left to live for. Perhaps that was why he had clung so easily to Bianca, even after she had revealed her true form and told him to leave.

"TOOOO THE SOOOOIIIIILL..."

Wirt began to feel his eyelids dampen once again, staring at the forlorn man as the sapling reached his neck, securing all his limbs from any possible escape. He quickly unhooked the Woodsman's axe from his belt, hoping to dash away the damnable timber from consuming its host altogether. What stalled his movements, however, were the Beast's shadowed hands moving towards the lantern in the spot where Wirt had left it standing, in the corner of his vision. Both panic and rage winning over his rational side, he swung the axe at the Beast's arms, which disappeared into shadow when struck.

It was at that moment when Wirt felt one of the Beast's hands clamp across his mouth, and another arm temper Wirt's hand that held the axe, pulling him close; away from Harold.

"...OOOOF THE EEEAAAAAAARTHH!!"

The edelwood consumed Harold, one branch choking his neck while another set of branches covered his face. The rest of his body had since been assimilated into the rapidly-growing tree. As a muffled scream of protest escaped Wirt's covered mouth, he witnessed the growth of the edelwood speed up once the twitchings of Harold's body finally ceased. Branches sprouted from areas that had once been limbs and hair. A contorted face on the trunk of the tree began to form once his head became a mere depression in the bark. Eventually, all that remained was edelwood, and the speedy growth slowed to a halt.

By the time the Beast finally let go of Wirt, any fight that remained in his body quickly evaporated, leaving him to flop forward onto his hands and knees in defeat.

He wanted to keep fighting for Harold. He really did. Deep down, however, he knew that Harold had since reached the point of no return. Wirt became even more disgusted with himself when a disturbing thought began to take root in the back of his mind, brought on by the silent cries the lantern communicated through the boy's increasingly disconcerted nerves... and the presence of a ripe edelwood tree so near...

...The blood in Harold's veins that coagulated into that delicious oil once his heartbeat finally stopped. The worms and insects that would consume any meaty, gelatinous remains left behind by the edelwood. Harold's bones, locked inside of the tree, would very quickly be drained of their marrow and become nothing more than calcified shells for oily roots to bury through...

Why. WHY did those thoughts make Wirt salivate just as much as Bianca's soup had done for him?! What on earth was he turning into??

_It's the Beast's fault. He bound you to the lantern. He made you want this._

That still didn't make it okay.

He needed to end this nonsense. Right now.

The Woodsman's axe still in his grip, he slammed it into the base of the newly-grown tree. He tried his best to ignore the sickening 'pop' that the axe made when he pulled it back from the oily cut he'd created in the timber.

_Not going to let you suffer like this, Harold..._

_...Certainly... Not with aLL THatT.. OiL..._

His tremors picked up their tempo, and his frustrations from them increased, compelling him to slam the axe again and again into the tree. His frail, teenage form was quickly growing exhausted from the action. The power of a junkie's itch, however, was far more powerful than he could've imagined. He didn't even realize what he was doing anymore until he found himself pressing his body against the upper trunk, desperately trying to topple the bloody thing. Below him were the many clumsy bites he had taken out of one third of the trunk, of which he had hoped against hope would be enough.

A friend of his had once told him that he was taught how to properly cut down a tree in Boy Scouts. Wirt never really felt compelled to join when he was younger. He inwardly cursed himself for that decision now. Oil still leaked out of the gashes in the tree, though not nearly as much as when he had ground the wood up earlier. Nevertheless, he popped open a glass bottle from his pack and collected as much as he could before his patience ran low.

"TRALALALAAA, TRALALALAAA, CHOP THE WOOD TO LIGHT THE FIRE..."

"SHUT UP!!!" Wirt shouted, not even bothering to turn around.

The lantern glowed brightly against Wirt's crouched form. Oh Christ...

He needed _more_.

Climbing branch after branch of the infernal plant, he eventually found himself high enough that he could carefully start chopping the twigs at the top with his axe. One by one, they toppled to the ground below him, leaving black, oily gashes at their bases. After Wirt had managed to cut down a good number, he made his way back down and pulled out his grinder and bottles.

_I'll help you. I'll cut down your trees. I'll grind them into oil for you and fuel your lantern with it. You won't need to lie to me about what the trees are or what's in the lantern... Just please... Let me take my brother back home._

The practice that had previously disgusted him had now become a necessary evil. His eyes went alight as the messy, black oil poured into bottle after bottle until he had finally run out of bottles to fill. One part of him yelled at himself for taking joy in this damnable act, while the other encouraged him in a sense of begging for relief from the otherworldly pressure he was currently suffering.

He was currently seated some distance away from the tree he had just mutilated, numerous glass bottles full of black liquid at his left, and the infamous dark lantern at his right. His chest heaved with exhaustion from the work. He had been so anxious to get to this point before, but now he was slowly realizing exactly how demented this situation was.

It absolutely did NOT help when the Beast himself settled behind Wirt, gripping his shoulders tightly he had done the last time Wirt had performed this horrible ritual. Wirt really wished he could pull away, but his frenzied state of mind to cut down the tree before hadn't left him with much stamina to spare.

Another wave of intense cravings hit him, and he frantically unscrewed the cap to the lantern's font. He clumsily rummaged around in his pack for the funnel, because he knew he'd only end up spilling the oil everywhere with his trembling hands otherwise. Uncorking two of the bottles and biting his lower lip, he shakily dumped both their contents into the funnel at once.

His breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation that followed. What he'd been craving all day...

_Oh..._

The acute rush of relief that hit him was unreal; even more intense than last time. His tremors slowed down to an eventual, sensual halt, and his nerves were suddenly filled with a very inviting warmth. Reward for relighting a desperate flame that he'd had no choice but to become a complete junkie to.

...Still, it craved more. The Beast's claws dug at his shoulders. _He_ craved more.

All ten of the other bottles; one right after the other, went directly into the font. Each one compounded a feeling that Wirt knew he should've waited to fully absorb, but his impulsive actions had pretty much taken control by then. There was no longer any logic, in his mind, to what he was doing.

It was unlike any extended sense of relief he'd ever provided himself. Muted and incredibly strange in comparison, but still undeniably satisfying and intoxicating. Not unlike scratching an itch that had been driving you crazy all day.

His mind had become a complete haze, and his eyes had gone half-lidded.

After he'd poured the last bottle, he closed the font and turned around on the ground, burying himself against the Beast, who simply let out a low laugh and pulled him closer, as if he'd just attained some sort of small victory. Wirt knew he wasn't in his right state of mind at the moment, but he'd worry about it later. Right now, the warmth that spread through his nerves only encouraged him to seek out further comfort. He reached his hands up, one grabbing at the strange, furry and feathery cloak the Beast wore, and another at his upper arm.

It was there that Wirt's fingers traced across those curious textures again...

"...Beast?" Wirt mumbled after a minute or two of silence. "Is... is the Woodsman's face on here somewhere?" He really didn't know if it was an appropriate question to ask the monster or not. Then again, his brain was still currently a bowl of porridge.

It was several seconds before the Beast finally spoke, "...No. His tree is still alive" He then let out a low snicker and his tone became more gleefully sinister. "However..."

Wirt felt the Beast lift his hand from his arm, and brought it down to a spot under his ribs (If he had ribs, that is. He wasn't entirely sure.) The act unnerved Wirt a little, clearing some of the fog from his mind. His fingers flexed over the spot the Beast had guided them to, making out the shape of yet another distorted face.

He could practically hear the wicked grin in the Beast's voice. "...His daughter."

Wirt's eyes widened, and he stared up into the Beast's in disbelief. He'd known that the Beast had tricked the Woodsman into believing that his daughter's soul was in the lantern, but the fact that her face was on the monster's body meant that...

"...The Woodsman cut down her tree."

The Beast hummed in agreement. "She was his very first."

Wirt leaned his forehead against the Beast's chest, taking a minute to process this new information, ignoring the feeling of one of his gnarled hands coming up to thread his claws through his hair. He thought back to the night when Greg had nearly become a tree; how horrified the Woodsman had been to discover what the edelwood trees actually were.

_"You've been grinding up lost souls for years!"_

_"I didn't know! I didn't know this was where the edelwood trees came from!"_

Wirt shut his eyes, tracing his fingers over the warped face again. Not only had the Woodsman been tricked into believing he was keeping his daughter's soul alive, but he'd unknowingly ground up her dead body into oil to feed it. The Beast had probably found it hilarious at the time, being the deranged creature he was.

"Why not chop down the Woodsman's tree? You'd be bringing father and daughter back together at long last!"

It was that sick comment from the Beast that finally snapped Wirt back to his senses and made him scramble away. The Beast merely laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bianca's name is a play-on of "bian lian," an ancient Chinese opera trick that involves changing one's appearance in the blink of an eye.


	7. Survivor's Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was goofing off again, like always... And now you're stuck here."

He woke up to his mother fussing over him; combing his hair and then immediately peppering his face with kisses once she realized he was finally awake. His mind was going a million miles a minute, but was as slurred and slow as molasses at the same time. He could barely even comprehend what she was saying just now...

_"...in a hospital... Dad'll be here soon... frog... that brother of yours... Sara, see if he'll wake up if you... I'll be right back..."_

His mother left the room, presumably to talk to a doctor. She did mention the word 'hospital,' right? ...Neat! He'd never been in a hospital before!

Rubbing his eyes, Greg slowly sat up and surveyed his surroundings.

The room itself was boring, but Wirt's friends from the cemetery were there too, still in their costumes. Some of them turned to look at Greg, now that he was awake. His brother was sound asleep in the bed on the other end of the room, with Sara sitting on the side of it. She looked really concerned about Wirt. Greg smiled. Maybe it was a sign that she really did like Wirt back after all! He knew Wirt would be happy about that once he woke up, that much the younger boy was sure of. He hoped Sara still had the tape that Wirt had made for her.

Then he heard a croak.

He turned his head to see Jason Funderfrog plopped by his legs, staring back at him. He was wearing the hat and stockings that he had been given by the frogs from the...

Greg's eyes went wide.

"I DID IT!" He suddenly cried out, throwing up his fists in victory.

Wirt's friends, startled at the outburst, quickly turned their attention towards him. "Did what?" the blonde girl holding (human) Jason Funderberker's hand asked.

Greg beamed at them. "I beat the Beast!"

They all stared at him blankly. "What beast?" asked the girl dressed as a witch.

He climbed out of bed and scooped Jason Funderfrog up in his arms, then turned back to the puzzled teenagers and excitedly proceeded to tell them in great detail about the wild adventure he and Wirt had just been on. The teens listened closely, confused about what on earth he was talking about, but still very curious. They assumed it was a weird dream he'd had while passed out, but humored him all the same. Sara, at some point, turned back to his brother to try again at waking him up.

"...So, the monster tore the mill apart as Wirt and I climbed higher! Finally, we were at the top of the mill and had no place left to go! THEN, I noticed a piece of candy stuck on Wirt's cape and threw it off the edge, 'cuz I knew the monster wanted it! And THEN-"

He stopped and let out a delighted gasp when he turned his head to see that Wirt had finally awakened and was now sitting up in bed. He looked back at Greg, exhausted, but extremely grateful to see him too. "WIRT! I was telling them about the time we almost got-"

Jason Funderfrog let out a croak in Greg's arm.

"Hahaha, yeah, and you were there too, Jason Funderberker!"

"Me??" Asked human Jason.

Greg scowled. "Not you; Jason Funderberker, my frog!"

Another croak.

" _Our_ frog." Wirt corrected, smiling at his brother from the bed.

Greg nodded in agreement. "Our frog."

"Our frog?" Asked human Jason.

Greg shook his head. "No, not YOUR frog, we just named him after you. He's not yours."

"Oh." Human Jason seemed both baffled and flattered. "Eh... that's fine, I guess."

"Tell us more about your dream, Greg!" The witch girl said, looking genuinely eager to hear the rest of the boy's weird story.

Greg scowled at her. "It wasn't a dream! It really happened!" He held Jason Funderfrog up in the air. "One time, Wirt and I encountered a girl who had an evil spirit in her, but we got rid of it with a magic bell that my frog swallowed! Look!" As soon as he shook the frog, he jingled and glowed from Lorna's bell. The witch girl was both shocked and surprised, as were the three other teens when Greg jingled the frog for them to see. Greg grinned at their stunned reactions. "Tell them, Wirt! Tell them it wasn't just a-"

He turned around, expecting to see his brother still chatting nervously with Sara.

Sara wasn't there.

Wirt was still there, but... he was lying down again, and now had his back turned to Greg, keeping disturbingly still. Rather than the hospital pajamas he'd had on before, he was back to wearing his Halloween costume, which was completely soaked, as was the space on the bed he lay on.

Greg blinked, confused. "...Wirt?"

He turned back to Wirt's friends, hoping for an explanation, only to find that they, too, had disappeared.

A chill went down the little boy's spine, and he hugged Jason Funderfrog close. The frog stared up at him.

Greg turned back to Wirt, walking closer to the bed. "Wirt, c'mon..." He frowned, standing on his tiptoes and reaching out to jostle his brother.

"Don't."

He paused and stared down at his frog in surprise. "Don't what, Jason Funderberker?"

The frog gave Greg a pleading look. "Leave him be, Gregory. You don't want to see this."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Why not? What's wrong?" He gave the frog a small shake. He jingled and glowed, but he didn't answer.

The boy let out a frustrated huff, trying again to reach out. "This isn't funny, Wirt!" He scolded, his voice gaining a slight tremble. As soon as he got a good grip on his brother's soggy cloak, he _pulled_.

...He regretted doing so almost immediately.

Wirt's body flopped over like a wet rag doll, his previously-concealed right arm hitting the soaked bed with a soft, wet 'smack.'

Greg blanched at the sight before him.

The elder child's skin was no longer warm and peachy as it had been before, but pale, blotchy, and cold to the touch. His half-lidded eyes were still moist, but no longer held their previous light, and stared into nothing. His blue lips hung slightly ajar, allowing a trickle of water to leak from his waterlogged throat.

No twitch of muscle. No pulse. No breathing.

Nothing.

 

_"No... Please, not my baby... Not my baby..!!"_

_"...drowned, age fifteen..."_

_"Your brother's gone, Gregory. He's not coming back."_

_"It wasn't your fault, Greg..."_

_"...Just lend me your tape player, Cathleen! I need to know what's on this tape!..."_

_"Greg... please stop telling your mother about your 'beast' dream..."_

 

_...Justletmetakemybrotherbackhome..._

 

_Goodbye, Greg._

_...Goodbye, Wirt._

 

"I told you not to look." Jason whispered.

Greg blinked, staring at the body that had once been his brother, trying to make sense of the information worming its way into his brain...

...No, this was wrong. It had to be. This wasn't how his plan was supposed to go. Shutting his eyes tight, he did his best to ignore the growing lump that had formed in his throat, as well as the lurking memories in the back of his mind that-

Stop.

This wasn't real. This was just a nightmare. Wirt was fine.

Wirt. Was. _FINE._

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his elephant costume, once again, and staring up into the eyes of a strange, regal woman with electric blue hair.

The dream...

 

_"See how the edelwood grows around him?" The Queen of the Clouds implored as she showed Greg the image of his brother, slowly getting consumed by the roots of the horrible plant, "The Beast has claimed him already."_

_Greg flinched at the sight, an intense sense of regret running through him. "Ohh... I should've been leading better!" He moaned, casting his gaze downward, not wanting to witness his brother turn into one of those weird trees the two of them had both seen repeatedly on their journey. "I was goofing off again, like always... And now you're stuck here."_

_Wirt had been right. It was his fault they had gotten lost. Greg had been so preoccupied with the trivial ventures he'd kept getting sidetracked by, leaving his brother to take care of the things that mattered most._

_He looked back up at the Queen with a pleading look. "Isn't there ANYTHING I can do??"_

_"I'm sorry, Gregory..." The Queen shut her eyes. "Wirt's fate lies solely in the Beast's hands now."_

_His brother had trusted him to find a way. Wirt had completely given up on going back home, and Greg had done nothing to help._

_"Then..." He wouldn't let him down again. "I know what to wish for."_

_He beckoned the queen down so that he could whisper his wish into her ear:_

_"I wanna take Wirt's place."_

_The Queen gasped._

_"Are you sure?"_

_Greg nodded. If he could face the Beast, then maybe he'd be able to reason with him. If not... well, then at least Wirt would be okay._

_"...Then it shall be done." The Queen dolefully concluded._

 

That was what happened. Wirt was fine, because Greg had made a deal with the Beast upon awakening. Not Wirt. The Beast promised to show them the way home if Greg completed his strange tasks. 

...And he did! He did! Wirt was freed from the Beast's grasp and then proceeded to rescue Greg. Then, they BOTH went home and recovered in the hospital. They were fine now. Greg gave Mrs. Daniels her rock back, and Wirt was probably going to start dating Sar-

_That's not what happened._

He screwed his eyes shut again as he felt the lump in his throat bubble again, suppressing the tears that had begun to prick beneath his eyelids.

_You know that's not what happened._

"No!" He shook his head furiously. "He's FINE!"

_No amount of imagining will bring him back._

He moved to grab at his ears in a futile attempt to silence his own conscience, but found that his arms wouldn't budge. They were stuck. HE was stuck.

...In the tree again. He felt the edelwood wrapped tightly around his body, as it had been back in the Unknown.

 _Just a nightmare._ _Just a nightmare._ He repeated in his head. He would have said the words out loud, but his voice had become trapped in his throat. _Wirt's okay. We're both okay. We both got home. I made a deal with the Beast and won and then we went home. I made a deal with the-_

He was startled when he felt a tug on the branches that held him, even moreso when his brother's voice broke through the darkness. "COME OOONN!!!"

Wirt! He was there to get him free!

He couldn't do anything, not even say hello or open his eyes to look at Wirt. His vision was sealed shut, and all he could do was listen.

"It's gonna be fine, Wirt!" He heard Beatrice's voice join in, consoling his brother as he struggled with Greg's tree.

_Yes! Yes! Then you'll get me out and we can go home!_

The tugging on the branches abruptly stopped when a muffled noise was heard in the distance, and he heard Wirt and Beatrice both gasp in unison at something he couldn't see.

There was a pause. 

Then, a third voice filled the void:

"Give me my lantern."

_...Oh no._

" _Your_ lantern?"

"No way! We need this thing!" Beatrice insisted.

"Yeah! I'm keeping this!" Wirt adamantly (yet frantically) said, "I have to get Greg home!"

 _You tell him, Wirt!_  

...Wait, where had his brother gotten a lantern? Was it the one the Woodsman had?

"Your brother is too weak to go home." The Beast said, "He will soon become part of my forest."

_No, I won't! Don't listen to him!_

"I won't let that happen!" Wirt yelled.

Another pause.

" _Well then..._ " The Beast replied, his voice now taking on a darker, more sinister tone, "Perhaps we'd better make a deal."

_...WHAT?!?!!_

Greg's mind was screaming now, and he struggled once again to gain control over his own body. He couldn't even hear what the Beast was still talking about in his panic. This wasn't how it went! The Beast promised to show them the way home! He wasn't supposed to make another deal!

"Take on the task of Lantern-Bearer, or watch your brother perish."

_DON'T DO IT DON'T DO IT DON'T LISTEN TO HIM..!_

"Come here."

_NONONONONONONO!!!_

He heard Wirt let out a defeated sigh. "...Okay."

**_"NO!!!!!"_ **

Greg screamed through the void, his voice finally free of whatever had been holding it back before. The tree that bound him disappeared, leaving him to fall forward onto something soft.

Finally, his eyes opened.

He was back at the hospital, in his pajamas, holding himself against the soggy bed that Wirt's body still lay upon. His right arm was still outstretched from before, in a morbid caricature of reaching out to Greg. The corpse's dull, lifeless eyes stared back into the tear-filled ones of his little brother.

It was then that Greg realized he wasn't alone.

Turning to his right, he let out a small shriek as his eyes fell upon the Beast, sitting on the bed in the spot previously occupied by Sara, and towering over the teen's body. The Beast said nothing, simply observing the terrified little boy panic over his brother's drowned corpse.

At first, Greg was too frightened and overwhelmed to do anything. However, as the glowing eyes of the Beast bore into his own, another feeling abruptly bubbled up inside of him, making him feel like he was about to mentally combust in a matter of seconds.

Anger.

 _"_ ** _LIAR!!!_** _"_ Greg screamed at the monster, tears and snot streaming down his face. In a rage, he let out a flurry of punches against the Beast, even though his little child fists did practically nothing. The Beast made no movements of discomfort or motions to move away. It made no difference to Greg. All he could see was red.

...Seeing actual red for the first time ever.

"YOU PROMISED YOU'D SHOW US THE WAY HOME!!!" Greg cried, "YOU SAID THAT IF I DID YOUR WHAT YOU SAID, YOU'D SEND US HOME!!! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!" 

His fists came down again, and again. And again.

"It's ...ah-ah-all your f-fault..."

Greg's punches eventually slowed to a halt as his arms quickly became drained of energy. His rage, too, began to wane, leaving him to crumple against the bed while bawling his eyes out. His hands shakily crept up and grasped the cold, dead hand of his brother, still outstretched before him, and became even more upset when the hand didn't squeeze back.

So cold...

After a few minutes, once Greg's sobs began to lose their high-pitched fervor, the Beast finally spoke up.

"You're home now, are you not?"

The little boy clutched his brother's hand tighter. "L-liar..!" He whimpered, "You... promised y-you'd buh... bring us... _both_ b-back home..."

"I promised I would _show_ you the way home."

Greg let out another sob and pressed his face against the bed. "...Bring Wirt back."

"No."

He opened his bloodshot eyes and stared up at the Beast. "Bring. Wirt. BACK."

The Beast's attention shifted to Wirt's body, reaching a dark, clawed hand over to pinch one of his cold ears. "Do you hear an echo in here?"

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!" Greg shouted, another round of tears leaking from his eyes.

The Beast looked back at Greg. "...Though, to your credit, I suppose I _was_ a little sneaky about the whole thing." He leaned closer again. "If it's a refund you want, I will happily give it to you."

Greg sniffled. "...R-refund?" He didn't know what that word meant.

"I give you back what you have lost."

The boy's eyes widened, a spark of hope flashing through them. "Y-YES! DO IT! BRING WIRT BACK! PLEASE!!" The wave of joy that overtook him was so sudden that he thought he might collapse, and he let go of Wirt's hand to brace himself. He even allowed himself to let out a small giggle, and wiped his face on his sleeve.

The Beast chuckled and pointed over the boy's shoulder. "Look over there."

Excitedly, Greg spun around in the direction the Beast had pointed.

...Empty hospital room.

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "There's nothing over th-"

When Greg turned back to the soaked bed, both the Beast and Wirt's body were gone.

In Wirt's place lay a spun cobweb on a stick, a honeycomb, and an old china teacup.

 

*

 

Jason Funderfrog was startled from his sleep in his terrarium when Greg, once again, woke up screaming. Shortly thereafter, the boy's father, - a tall, blonde man - rushed into his room and proceeded to cradle and comfort his son as he recovered from whatever nightmare he just woken from.

Greg buried his face into his father's nightshirt as he held him close, bawling loudly into it as his father whispered soft, comforting words to him. The man's voice held a slight tremble in it too, Jason noticed, but he managed to hold himself together lest he upset his son more.

Between the crying and the shushing, the frog was able to pick up on a few of the muffled words that were sobbed and whispered between the two...

_"...all my fault..."_

_"No, no... don't ever say that..."_

_"...should've been..."_

_"It was an accident..."_

_"...just wanted to..."_

_"I miss him too, Greg..."_

Jason had noticed that whenever this happened, it was never the woman- the boy's mother... who came to Greg's aid. Whenever Greg asked for her, his father would respond with something along the lines of 'she can't' or 'we need to leave her be right now.' Despite how deeply the situation had upset the man, there was no doubt that the woman, for obvious reasons, was going through an even deeper hell.

It was the third time Greg had woken up like this since the funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, we'll be back to Wirt in the next chapter.


	8. Provisions

At the behest of the Beast, he had finished chopping down Harold's tree the night before. 'Before the turtles get to it.' he had said. Wirt didn't know what he meant by that, but did as he was told.

By the time he'd finished (after the tree had nearly fallen on top of him), he was completely exhausted and sore all over. His lanky, teenage body was hardly fit for the work of a lumberjack, but it was unfortunately just one more horrible thing on a growing list that he'd have to suck up and get used to. He would've passed out then and there, had the Beast not yanked him back up and ordered him to fill the bottles again. The font of the lantern held about 3-4 little bottles of oil at a time, Wirt had learned. However, in his geeked-up frenzy earlier, he had attempted to dump ALL the bottles into it, making a mess and wasting oil. He probably would've tried to salvage some if his dopey, airheaded self hadn't been so eager for a cuddle with the Unknown's manifestation of despair itself afterwards.

...Seriously, what was wrong with him??

The rest of the night had been a blur, consisting mainly of sluggishly collecting wood from the fallen tree, grinding it, and filling all the bottles back up. The Beast had mentioned something about a 'reward' at some point, but by then Wirt was far too exhausted to care.

 

*

 

When Wirt woke up the next morning (borderlining noon) it took him a moment to realize that he wasn't asleep on the ground. 

He was in a bed. An actual bed, with pillows and sheets. A warm, wool blanket had been draped over him.

_What in the..?_

Groggily, he sat up and blinked his bleary eyes, trying his best to assess the situation.

When his vision adjusted, he found himself in the small, cramped bedroom of a cabin. There was nothing else in here, save for an old armoire near the door. His hat lay at the foot of the bed, which he grabbed and replaced on his head before getting up and opening the bedroom door to explore.

It was a small cabin; kitchen, table, chairs, and a large fireplace. On the table lay the lantern, along with Wirt's axe and supplies. He was also surprised to find another hand grist mill bolted to the side of it. It was larger than his, much like the bigger ones he had seen back at Endicott and Grey's manor. As with those, it had probably been for coffee or tea.

The whole house was dusty and smelled stale. Cobwebs covered the rafters above. It was clear that it had been abandoned for some time now, so at least he didn't have to worry about the owner coming home and finding an intruder.

There was also a small set of stairs on the far side of the cabin, leading down to what was presumably the cellar, which piqued Wirt's curiosity once he noticed it. Descending the stairs and illuminating the area with the lantern, he was completely surprised by what he saw.

Unlike the rest of the cabin, which was sparsely decorated, the walls of the cellar had numerous little charcoal drawings hanging from them. It was another bedroom. A small bed with a barrel next to it, functioning as a nightstand and supporting a glass vase of long-dead flowers.

Wirt stared curiously at the drawings. They were... actually pretty good. Whoever had drawn these clearly had a lot of practice, though most of the subjects depicted in the drawings weren't that interesting. Trees, more trees, the cabin, animals, people, flowers, a portrait of a girl, a portrait of-

 

...

 

...Oh.

 

...

 

_Oh, for the love of..._

 

Wirt's lips formed a thin line as everything about the cabin suddenly clicked in his head, angry with both the situation, and the fact that he really wasn't as surprised as he wished he was by what he'd just realized. Goddammit...

The Woodsman. That was unmistakably the Woodsman. Not photographic, but realistic enough to recognize who it was. He was actually smiling in this picture too.

Scanning the other drawings, he found that he showed up in a few others as well, sometimes with the girl from the portrait. He sighed. His daughter. These were all probably drawn by her, too. This was her room.

This had been their home.

_Guess what the grinder upstairs was probably used for?_

Ugh...

Wirt shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of course the Beast would 'reward' him with something like this. Thanks for filling my lantern with dead people. Here, have a house they used to live in. My demented little trophy.

...At least now, he had some actual shelter, and it wasn't like it belonged to anyone anymore, but...

He let out a groan.

He just... _really_ needed to get away from here for a while.

 

*

 

Despite the constant autumn/winter weather he had experienced since coming here, today was thankfully one of the warmer days. Wirt sat perched by a stream he'd come across earlier, leaving the lantern, belt, and axe a few yards away, still within view, but safe from any possible splashing from the water.

Leave it to the warm weather to remind him that he hadn't bathed since he'd become the lantern bearer. At first, he'd only stopped here to get a drink of water, but then he was splashing his face, trying to wash away the dirt and sweat it had accumulated. Then he became unpleasantly aware that his clothes smelled as bad as they looked when he attempted to dry his face on his sleeve.

He was hesitant about the idea at first, not finding the concept of exposing himself in the Unknown that appealing. Then again, he didn't find smelling like stale roadkill too appealing either. Besides, the stream was surrounded by forest, there was no one else around, and the water did feel pretty nice. Eh, screw it.

Carefully, he peeled off his grimy clothes, and, one-by-one, waded into the stream to thrash them around in the current. He realized that this would probably... -no, _definitely_ \- be more effective with soap, and if he actually knew what he was doing, but at least this method was getting the dirt off and fading some of the smaller stains. In the end, as he set them all to dry on a sunny rock, they certainly looked cleaner than they had been before. At least that was something.

He waded back in. Now to get _himself_ rinsed off...

"Trying to drown ourselves again, are we?"

"GAH!!" Wirt stumbled and fell backwards into the stream with a splash, then frantically proceeded to get to a deeper part of it while trying to cover himself.

The Beast, on the shore, merely cocked his head at the spectacle. "You're turning this into a bad habit."

Wirt glared at him from the water, flushing in frustration and embarassment. "Is it too much to ask for some privacy??"

"If it's privacy you wanted, you should've stayed in the cabin." Pause. "How are you enjoying your reward, by the way?"

Wirt frowned, wading deeper. "How am I enjoying the stolen house of a family you destroyed? Just _peachy_."

The Beast wasn't impressed with that response. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how much you enjoyed carrying all your equipment with you all the time and sleeping on the cold, hard ground every night. Perhaps I should simply _burn it to the_ -"

"Alright, alright..." Wirt held up his hands, now chest-deep in the stream, "Look, I'm sorry. It's just... weird."

The Beast narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm getting very sick and tired of the constant ingratitude you've shown me since I _allowed_ you to come back. You should know by now that I am _never_ this generous with just anyone, and yet you continue to complain."

"Well, excuse me, but it's not my fault that your so-called 'generosity' always comes in the form of backhanded, pitch-black hu- _ohcrap..._ " Wirt had expected a number of possible verbal retorts, but he did not count on the Beast _wading into the stream after him_. He made a clumsy, desperate attempt at backing away, only to trip over a submerged stone and fall backwards underwater. 

Between the sensation of rushing water filling his nostrils and the sounds of the forest being suddenly muffled beneath the surface, something inside of him that was still reeling from drowning was triggered, and panic immediately set in.

_Getting caught in seaweed..._

_Watching Greg get rescued from the water as an unseen force pulled him back under..._

He didn't even realize how badly he was thrashing around until he was suddenly yanked up by his arm.

Breeching the surface, he let out a loud gasp and several coughs, clearing his lungs and recovering from the momentary panic. Jesus Christ, his heart was still pounding.

Wirt found his feet again, and his toes dug into the silt beneath, having no desire to repeat that stunt. He looked up at the Beast, who was still -painfully- clutching his arm.

"...Thanks."

"For..?"

"Helping me back up."

"And..?"

Wirt sighed. "Thank you for the cabin, too."

The Beast let go of his arm, causing the boy to almost lose his balance again. "You'd better be." With that, the Beast turned and waded back to the shore, disappearing into the woods shortly thereafter.

Wirt grumbled, running his now-pruney fingers through his hair as he tried to take his mind off of what had just happened. He hoped, at least, that the Beast had caught his stupid antlers once or twice in the cabin's doorframes while getting him in there. The thought forced a small smile out of him, and he resumed his not-quite-bath.

 

*

 

The following two weeks were spent struggling with the more basic aspects of his new life, the highlight of which having been coming across an unmanned baker's cart. Wirt had managed to grab several loaves of bread from it before taking off into the forest, afraid that he'd heard what may or may not have been its owner coming back. He did feel a twinge of guilt for what he did, but what was he supposed to do? He supposed he'd have to learn to hunt or fish eventually, but he honestly wasn't too eager to start.

What he didn't eat was spoiled a few days later.

Time to learn.

His first (unsuccessful) attempt was with a wild turkey, which he'd managed to chase and tackle to the ground, after surprising it from a bush. As he held the flailing, squawking thing down, however, he suddenly recalled how Beatrice had said that her curse had come from throwing a rock at a bluebird. Did that apply to turkeys too? Would he turn into a turkey if he hurt one? He'd asked the Beast about this, who had been watching the scene from the shadows with much amusement. The Beast had given a very unhelpful reply of 'Why don't you find out?' and Wirt had been forced to let it go.

He found the same turkey, later that evening, dead on the doorstep of the cabin with a broken neck. Upon asking the Beast how he was supposed to clean and cook it, he received no (helpful) answer.

That night had been... messy.

He hated how much the Beast was enjoying watching him try to figure all this out on his own.

In retaliation, he tried his best to fuel the lantern only when the anxious tremors he received from it became absolutely unbearable, hidden away in the Woodsman's daughter's room, where he was pretty sure the Beast couldn't get to him. He knew that there was something sick about fueling the damnable thing in her room, but she'd probably get a kick out of him causing the Beast any unneeded stress he could manage if she were still alive.

...He hoped.

Unfortunately, Wirt found that he could only last about 4-5 days like this, and the Beast seemed like he had the capacity to wait much longer than he did. There was probably a difference between the hunger the Beast felt for the lantern and the binding addiction that Wirt had become a slave to. If the Beast showed any discomfort brought on by the boy's extended time between fueling, he did an incredibly good job of hiding it.

_Why can't I win? Why can't I win??_

He spent several nights such as these in the cabin, downstairs, just staring at the drawings that the Woodsman's daughter had drawn. Most of them were simply portraits of inconsequential things she had seen in the surrounding area outside, but there were a few that caught his attention. 

There were about five drawings of herself where she was hindered or captured in some way, (behind a wall, peering through a window) four of which were crumpled and smudged as if she'd wanted to dispose of them immediately after, but changed her mind later and kept them. One of them had been scribbled out in a fit of frustration, with the words 'never lets me go anywhere' hastily written near the bottom edge of the paper.

Then there was the one, sinister-looking drawing of the forest, with two familiar light sources emerging from the charcoal shadows between the trees. The phrase 'singing??' had been written alongside the bottom edge of the drawing, and Wirt didn't need any other clues about the subject she had tried to depict.

Based on these, he figured that the Woodsman had been aware of the Beast long before he thought his daughter had been trapped in the lantern. He'd kept her here, not letting her go anywhere else (at least, not by herself) and his daughter had hated it. She'd viewed this place less as a home and more as a prison, the older she got.

Try as he might, Wirt couldn't find anything to directly indicate how she or her father had gotten involved with the Beast or his lantern.

 

*

 

Wirt had thought that he'd mentally prepared himself to expect the unexpected when it came to the Unknown. The undead, talking animals, people who broke into song for no reason, ghosts, monsters... whatever. It was all completely reasonable out here in this crazy, messed-up forest.

 _This_ , however... he hadn't counted on.

He'd been on one of his many treks through the woods, hoping to come across a town or somewhere where he could get some fresh supplies, when he came to a small clearing and saw... her.

Sara.

She was picking some sort of berries from a row of bushes, taking the time to examine them every now and then before dropping them into the basket that lay at her feet. She was humming some unfamiliar tune to herself while doing so.

No, wait... scratch that. There was no way. Why would she..?

...How...??

...In the Unknown??

No. This had to be some sort of sick trick. That or he'd lost his mind a lot earlier than he thought he would down here.

...But the humming she produced... That was _her_ voice...

He must have stepped on a twig or something, because at some point she was alerted to his presence, and she turned around and gaped at him in delighted surprise.

"THERE you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Her voice.

Wirt opened his mouth to respond, but ended up leaving his jaw slackened as the mixture of shock, hope, and utter disbelief that bubbled in his throat blocked any coherent thing he had the capacity to say.

And then she was running up to him, and grabbing him into a tight hug- and when the words, 'I missed you, Wirt' left her lips, he finally hugged her back in a crushing grip, burying his face into her shoulder as he felt his eyes begin to leak.

They stood like that for several seconds before Sara nervously patted his back and muttered "You're hurting me."

"Sorry!" Wirt blurted out, releasing her immediately. He wiped his eyes and took a good look at her again, still not quite believing what he was seeing. "What are..." His voice broke, and he tried again; "Sara... W-what... are you doing here?"

Sara raised an eyebrow at the question. "What do you mean? I came here to look for you, of course."

Wirt was befuddled by that. "...You mean, you just...? How??"

"Same way you got here, obviously."

 

...

 

He realized that the first red flag for the situation was probably the fact that she was here at all, but that little statement seemed to successfully snuff out the part of him that was happy to see her. The skeptical, pessimistic part of his brain that had been in disbelief of the scenario since the start painfully wrenched the controls away from his hopeful side and took over, and he shut his eyes.

"Okay..." He said carefully, taking on a darker, dispirited tone, "How did I get here then?"

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "You got lost. I got lost when I went looking for you."

"How did I get lost?"

"You tell me."

"No." He hissed, biting the inside of his lip as he finally noticed... the distinctly _eastern_ style of the dress she was wearing. "How about you start telling me what the hell you're doing and why you're following me... Bianca."

'Sara' paused for a moment, and then made a show of pouting. "You're no fun, you know that?"

"Answer me!!" Wirt yelled.

"Alright, calm down!" Bianca-Sara held up her hands in a guarded stance, taken aback by how incredibly irate the boy was. She glared at him. "I wasn't following you, fool. I was just hoping I would run into you again, and here you are. You've already got..." She gestured uncomfortably at the lantern, "THAT thing's owner following you around. I have no wish to get caught up in that affair."

Wirt glared back at her. "That doesn't explain why you look like-"

"I owe you a favor, remember?" Bianca interrupted, "I suppose you've every right to be mad at me after that little trick I pulled..."

"Yeah, I do."

"But!" She spoke up again, "I heard 'his' singing not long after. I've been around here long enough to know that means he's found a new tree. It benefitted your situation as much as it did mine, and you're still alive and well, am I right?" 

She didn't even wait for Wirt to respond before continuing. "Now, to answer your other question: Remember the three hairs I plucked from your head? Remember the little tricks I mentioned that I discovered in my youth? Well~" She made a flared motion towards her (Sara's) smug face, "Let's just say that when it comes to the right charms and potions, I have a knack for bringing out the undisclosed desires of someone. At the moment, I've decided to stay away from purely sentimental forms, as that ended up doing me no favors in poor Harold's case. With you, on the other hand, I've moved onto digging out the more..." She grinned "...romantic aspects of your sentiments. I must say, by the way, this 'Sara' girl is positively adorable. No secret why you lusted after-"

Wirt smacked a palm to his forehead. "I get it. Just... shut up." he growled, "I changed my mind. I don't care why you look like her. Just change back."

She looked offended by that notion. "Right now? And ruin this dress with my pudgy old figure? Absolutely not!"

"Bianca..."

"I didn't just do this for _you_ , anyway." She continued, stretching out one brown arm to admire herself, "Her little form makes me feel so young and sprightly again! I haven't been able to fit into this dress since I, myself, was young." She frowned. "Can't use my charms on my own wants and memories, so yours will have to do."

Wirt shut his eyes again in frustration. "This isn't a favor."

"Why not? It's not like you're going to actually see the real Sara again."

_...Ouch._

"You know what? No. No, we're done here. I don't need your stupid 'favor." And Wirt turned on his heel, walking away with every intention of pretending that today hadn't happened.

That is, until she called after him, "How about a bowl of soup, then!"

Wirt stopped.

He turned around, watching her jog over to him. She grinned. "That got you're attention, did it? I know life hasn't been easy for you since you got here, and I'll bet that the singing wretch you serve is no nursemaid, right?

"Do I really need to answer that?"

"Right then! So how about this..." She motioned in the what was presumably the direction of her cottage. "In return for getting rid of Harold, I'll give you food and whatever supplies you need when you need them! I know you're already a fan of my soup, and besides..." She looked him over. "You haven't exactly done a good job of taking care of yourself, y'know?"

Wirt scowled. The offer was tempting, but... "Will you change back?"

"No."

Sigh. "Why not?"

"I told you, I look and feel youthful like this." She whirled around, admiring herself with a smile. "There's no pain in my joints, no wrinkles, and I'm in the best shape I've ever been!" She looked back at him and put her hands on her hips. "It's not nice to deny an old woman the little joys she finds in life, boy."

"It's not nice to trick grieving, mentally-ill men into doing your bidding and then send them off to die when you're sick of them, either."

Bianca rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Young man, the sooner you learn to take advantage of the opportunities that life throws your way, the better! The Unknown is not a kind place, and it will walk all over you if you let it. I'm surprised I even have to tell this to _you_ , of all people!" She frowned. "You're lucky I'm extending any sort of kindness at all to you, given the company you keep."

The Highwayman's threat to kill him came to mind at her words. He sighed again. "...You're right."

"You bet your silly, pointy hat I am!" She said, giving him a satisfied smirk. "Now then, about that bowl of soup..." She grabbed Wirt by the hand and began to lead him away. Startled, he yanked back.

_This ISN'T Sara._

Bianca gave him a quizzical look.

"Don't..." Wirt mumbled, "D-don't do that."

She let out annoyed huff. "Follow me then, fool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Real life needs attending to.
> 
> Desensitization is a gradual thing, and Bianca isn't helping.


	9. Stunted Growth

 

_There was a knock at the door._

_Wirt shut his eyes in frustration, putting down his clarinet and hitting the 'pause' button on his tape recorder. "Who is it?"_

_"Just me." Said the voice behind the door, "Can I come in?"_

_Wirt groaned. He was pretty sure he knew what this was about, as his mother had lectured him on earlier, and he really didn't want to talk about it anymore. "...Sure."_

_The blonde man opened the door and stepped into the teen's room. He gave Wirt his signature awkward smile in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. It faltered when his stepson didn't return the smile. "I didn't interrupting anything, did I?"_

_"Yeah, actually, you did." Wirt coldly replied, holding up his clarinet._

_The man looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in a silent apology._

_Wirt rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Dan?"_

_'Dan' turned back to him, that awkward smile now absent. "Your mother told me that you skipped your therapy appointment today."_

_Not again..._

_"Look, Mom already yelled at me about this, alright? It's done. I'm sorry."_

_"Wirt, this is the second time this month-"_

_"I don't want to argue about this again!" Wirt accosted, throwing his hands in the air. "The issue's been discussed. It's over. Thanks! Goodbye!" He waved his hand, motioning for Dan to get out of his room and leave him alone._

_The man didn't move._

_Ugh..._

_"She's worried about you, Wirt." Dan pressed, now in a softer tone. "We just want to-"_

_"You just want to help me." Wirt finished in a deadpan. "I know. You've both told me a thousand times."_

_The older man frowned. "Why didn't you want to see your therapist?"_

_"Because maybe I don't feel like talking about every stupid thing that pops into my head??” He turned away, glaring at nothing. "...I don't want to do this anymore. It's not helping.”_

_"Wirt-"_

_"It's more her problem anyway!" He blurted out, "She's just so paranoid out that I'm going to end up like-"_

_…_

_He stopped himself before he could finish that thought._

_Dan, thankfully, didn't press about 'who.' (Not that he didn’t already know.)_

_After the minute of awkward silence that followed, his stepdad spoke again, this time in a more jovial tone. "You're making that for Sara, aren't you?"_

_Wirt turned and gave him an annoyed look, seeing that his stepdad was pointing at the tape player. "Who told you about that??"_

_Dan smirked warmly. "Take a wild guess."_

_The teen pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. How the heck did Greg keep finding out about this stuff??_

_"You know..." Dan continued, picking up Wirt’s clarinet from the desk, “If you really want to see her more, you may want to give more thought into joining-“_

_“I don’t want to join marching band, alright??” Wirt said, snatching his instrument back._

_“I’m just saying, your mother and I think it would do you well to get into some extracurricular-“_

_“Dan… I. Don’t want. To join. Marching band.”_

_His stepdad sighed and shrugged his shoulders, turning on his heel. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Don’t make me send Greg to fetch you.”_

 

*

 

He'd been hesitant about whatever weird arrangement he had going with Bianca at first, only to be pleasantly surprised by the first gift basket she presented him with. Holy cow, he'd hit the jackpot!

A bar of soap, a fresh loaf of bread, five apples, a vial of salt, and a jar of preserves!

It would've been too good to be true, if only there weren't a number of other factors in this deal that still rubbed him the wrong way. It still irritated him to no end that Bianca kept herself in the form of Sara. He understood that she felt healthier and generally better in the body of a teenage girl, but _god..._

It only kept reminding him, in a cruel display, that he'd never see the real thing again. Instead, this weird old lady was parading around in her skin, discoloring memories of Sara that he'd hoped would remain untainted. _She's not Sara,_ Wirt kept reminding himself. Ugh.

He'd limited his visits to her home to once a week for this very reason.

Bianca, on the other hand, absolutely swooned with delight when he made his weekly visit.

She went out of her way to encourage him to spend a little more time with her; offering him tea and a hot meal, washing his clothes, even going so far as to sew him a new shirt and pair of pants. His old clothes looked almost brand-new whenever she gave them back to him, after being washed and dried. Even if she did have some sort of magic on her side, he was still amazed with how she was able to wash away the grime and undo all the tears. How she'd gotten all the oil stains out was in itself nothing short of a miracle. It was enough to get him to stay an extra hour or two for conversation, if only out of a sense of guilt. She was a lonely old woman in the woods. Of course she craved any sort of company she could get.

How she managed to obtain so many supplies, he had no idea. Then again, after the dubious nature of their first meet, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"The Unknown," she'd explained once, "Takes. Play your cards in both your favors, however, and it will provide."

He hadn't asked what that was supposed to mean.

By the fourth visit, it became clearer as to what it was that she wanted. He'd been enjoying a bowl of stew she'd cooked up when she, once again, swiftly plucked three strands of hair from his head.

"Ow!" he yelped, covering his hair with his hands and scowling up at her, "What was that for?!"

She waved him off, tucking the hairs into a pouch she wore around her waist. "Renewal."

"Renewal...?"

"My talent lasts awhile, but it doesn't last forever." She gave a small shrug. "I need fresh memories of the girl to keep going as I am."

"Sara." Wirt replied, tersely. "Her name is Sara."

Bianca responded with a patronizing smirk. "Right then. 'Sara."

Some time later, she produced a basket of her weekly provisions to Wirt. Aside from the food, soap, and tooth powder, he discovered an ivory-handled razor at the bottom of the basket. He held it in his hand, curiously flipping the blade in and out.

"Don't know if you shave yet." Bianca remarked, "But in case you do."

It was then that another realization hit him.

He hadn't shaved since he'd been in the Unknown.

...But he hadn't grown any new hairs either.

Granted, he'd only gained a select few hairs on the bottom of his chin and above his upper lip since puberty had set in. Nothing he couldn't pluck out with a tweezer in less than a minute. Despite the hair he'd gained on his legs, armpits, and crotch, there were scant few of any facial hair or chest hair he'd acquired. His mom had once told him that he was probably like his dad; puberty had been slow, and then suddenly happened all at once in his mid-to-late teens.

On Halloween, he'd plucked away every facial hair he could find, even going so far as to trim a few strays from his eyebrows. He'd wanted to look his best when he finally confronted Sara.

But... how long had he been here now? Two months maybe? ...At least?? It had gotten so much colder, and the 'northwind' snowstorms had become much more frequent. Had to be December or January.

Even the hair on his head hadn't grown. Actually, now that he thought about it, it wasn't just his hair. After weeks of chopping trees for the beast, he felt much stronger than he used to be, but still physically looked like his usual, lanky self. No muscles to speak of.

On the visit that Bianca had gifted him the razor, he'd asked her about this subject. She'd given him a blank look for a moment, only to later lower her lids in some sort of grim recognition. "Ah. Right. I forgot."

He raised an eyebrow. "Forgot what?"

"Outsiders don't usually change in the Unknown. My mistake." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Keep it anyway."

Wirt scowled. "So... the hairs you keep plucking... they're not growing back?"

"Of course they'll grow back!" She snapped at him, as if this was common knowledge. "Back to the way they were. Don't go ruffling your own feathers." She glanced uneasily at the lantern sitting by his feet. "...Or, flames, or whathaveyou..."

She'd previously asked about the lantern, as he knew she probably would. The Beast had coached him on what to say in situations such as these, seeing how well the 'carrying it for good luck' answer had gone over with the Highwayman. As much as the Beast was amused by Wirt's struggle to figure things out on his own, the true nature of the dark lantern was something the he was strongly adamant about keeping between the two of them only.

If the inquirer did not know about Wirt's connection with the Beast, he was to say the lantern helped with his poor eyesight. If they did, he'd tell the inquirer that the Beast had put his (Wirt's) soul in the lantern based on a deal he'd made. Were they to press him about said "deal," he was permitted to say that he did it to rescue his brother, but not go into details. Any further questions on the matter were to be met with silence, stonewalling, or simply leaving.

That was just the way it was now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to add more to this chapter, seeing as not a whole lot happens in it. Then again, it's been a while and I wanted to put SOMETHING up to show I'm still here.
> 
> Decided to name Wirt's stepdad 'Dan.'


	10. Baba Yaga

There was once a time when Wirt had loved winter.

He loved the way the outdoors looked when they were covered in a newfallen blanket of snow. He loved the way snow muffled sound and made him feel tucked away in his own little world when he wandered through it. He loved getting to stay home from school. It gave him time to focus on his own little projects, if not merely more time to daydream.

Of course, that had been back home, where he’d been surrounded by people he knew, and had a distinct sense of security. And electricity. _Dear god, did he miss electricity._

Here, the isolation it provided was yet another example of reminding him that he was alone. It meant so much more time needed for woodcutting; for the stupid lantern, and to keep _himself_ warm. He tried staving it off the best he could, gathering every blanket and sheet he could find in the cabin and wrapping himself in a makeshift cocoon every night while breathing the hot air from his lungs against his cold, quivering hands. Sometimes, he would hold them in front of the lantern, despite the fact that it really wasn’t worth the effort. It barely gave off any heat, yet burned painfully when touching the raw metal siding.

At least, it used to. Lately, he found he was becoming somewhat numb to it. Some other weird thing he’d rather not think about. He’d already burned a good number of the Woodsman’s belongings just for the warmth of a normal fire, and felt incredibly guilty for doing so.

He’d hate the winter of the Unknown a lot less if the wood he cut went to fueling his own fires, but no; it just meant more work on top of his strenuous and unholy duty to chop down and grind lost souls into fuel that went solely to the Beast.

Freezing under a mountain of blankets was easier. It sucked, but it was easier.

 

*

 

The Beast was circling the area, singing another song about lost souls or chopping wood or something. It grated his nerves when the Beast did this, and the Beast loved that it did. He’d tell him to shut up, but he knew it would only make him sing louder.

There seemed to be another unnerving reason for the singing, he’d found out, and it made his stomach churn for reasons he couldn’t(and subconsciously didn’t even want to) properly pinpoint. He had filled the lantern one evening a few weeks ago with the oil he had ground out of the last useful remains of his previous edelwood, and had been out for a walk to clear his head. That’s when he happened upon another edelwood tree.

Unlike the others he had come across, the barks of which were slicked and oozing with oil, This one had looked bone dry. Not only that, but its surface was littered with those weird, black turtles that he had seen countless times before in the Unknown.

It was that very tree that he’d returned to on this particular evening. It was still covered in the little black turtles. Fewer than last time, but still a good many. When the Beast arrived to the scene, he seemed annoyed by them. Before Wirt could question his reaction, the Beast began belting out one of his morbid arias. The turtles, as if hypnotized, crawled back into the tree’s orifices. Without breaking a note, a firm push from the Beast signaled Wirt to get to work.

He’d been chopping at the tree for about 30 minutes when the Beast’s singing abruptly stopped.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time around that _witch_ lately.”

The way the Beast spat out the word ‘witch’ made Wirt think that he might’ve preferred to start it with a ‘B’. Wirt rolled his eyes and kept chopping. The trees that the Beast had been leading him to lately had fortunately been completely edelwood, and not dying people in the process of becoming one. Small favors, but it didn’t mean that his job wasn’t still completely freaking awful.

“What, jealous?” he sneered.

“I don’t trust witches.” The Beast rumbled, moving closer behind him, “And neither should you.”

“…Because you’re _so_ much more trustworthy.”

The Beast ignored him. “The witches of the unknown seek power over the forest in one way or another. It’s bad enough that the one you’ve been visiting knows you have a connection to me.”

“She wants nothing to do with you.” Wirt huffed, giving the tree another cut with his axe, “She’s just a creepy old lady trying to pretend she’s not old.” He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, coming out in thick, white puffs in the crisp night air. “I don’t see you giving me baskets of food every week.”

“You don’t see me wearing the facade of your long-lost sweetheart, either.”

Wirt flinched. “I know it’s not actually her… a-and it’s actually really gross that she keeps doing that.” He stared at the agonized face on the tree. “But… well… she keeps giving me stuff in return, so… it’s whatever.”

“She will almost certainly want more from you in time, now that she has you dependent on her for food. Keep chopping.” The Beast circled Wirt and the tree as the boy begrudgingly resumed his task. “A dog will become loyal to its master so long as master continues to give it treats. I liked it better when you made an attempt to survive on your own.”

“I’d have more time…” Chop. “…to do that, if…” Chop. “…I wasn’t so busy…” Chop. “Chopping these _FREAKING TREES_ when I’m not looking for them!” He turned to the Beast, looking exasperated. “…Which wouldn’t be so bad except winter here has me needing regular firewood for myself on top of _your_ dead people tree-“

“PAY ATTENTION!”

The Beast practically threw Wirt to the side as the tree crashed onto the spot where he’d just been standing. Wirt staggered, catching his breath and stared wide-eyed at the tree. The Beast was at his side in an instant and gave him a painful grip on the back of his hair. “Careless whelp.” He hissed, and shoved him back towards the newfallen timber. “Get to work.”

He filled the glass bottles, but gave nothing to the lantern.

 

*

 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Trembling.”

Wirt forced himself not to groan in frustration, wringing his hands together and trying his hardest to will away their small shakes. He’d staved off filling the lantern for another week, and had been dealing with tremors for the past four days. Much to the annoyance of the Beast, he had been working on strengthening his tolerance towards the lantern’s needs. He wanted to feel at least as hungry as the Beast did before he filled it. The less edelwood he had to cut during the dead of winter, on top of the regular firewood he needed to cut, the better.

Even though Bianca had an annoying habit of pointing out his tremors when they did happen, she was oddly respectful enough to never ask ‘why.’ Wirt suspected that she probably knew it had something to do with the lantern, but she seemed to tiptoe around that subject whenever possible. Did it unnerve her that much? It wouldn’t be a surprise.

Since the last time he visited, she’d made a new dress for her Sara-self and had her hair done up in fancy hair sticks. It seemed like she dolled her self up just a little bit more every time he came over. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

Bianca gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll have supper ready shortly. Maybe that’ll help you feel better.”

She wasn’t completely wrong. It never did any good to deal with his tremors on an empty stomach. She motioned for him to take a seat at the table while she went back to the stove. Five minutes went by, until he heard her hesitantly ask, “...He’s not going to come after me, is he?”

“The Beast?” Wirt asked. He thought for a moment. “...No.”

“Are you certain?”

Wirt shrugged. “He’s more of a lure-people-into-the-woods-and-watch-them-die type of guy… monster.” While it was true that he had broken Harold’s legs that one time, that had been in a life-or-death last resort situation, lest the Beast lose his newest lantern bearer. Besides, Harold had already been ‘lost,’ at least mentally. That’s what he told himself. “You’re safe. You’re not a lost soul.” He smirked to himself, adding: “Besides, coming here is one of the few ways I get to really mess with him.”

“How do you mean?”

“He doesn’t like it when I visit you. He hates witches.”

Bianca gave a light chuckle at that, setting down two bowls of vegetable fried rice and joining Wirt at the table. “Is that why you keep coming to visit little ol’ me?" 

Wirt shakily picked up his chopsticks to start on his dinner. “I mean, besides that weird deal we have going, sure.” He swallowed a mouthful of the hot rice. “This is delicious, by the way.”

Bianca smiled. “Glad that you and he aren’t one in the same.”

“Are you kidding? I hate him. He’s horrible.”

She gave him an somewhat-concerned look, stirring her own bowl in thought. “He doesn’t hurt you, does he?”

Wirt gave another shrug. “I mean, he did kill me…” He took another bite. “…but aside from that, no. Not physically, anyhow. Not really.”

Bianca nodded, eyeing the lantern at Wirt’s feet. “What exactly does he get out of keeping your soul in the lantern?”

He’d rehearsed many possible answers to potential questions about the lantern. Bianca’s question was thankfully easy to bluff. “I don’t know. I guess he feeds off my soul’s energy somehow. My soul needs oil, but I think it might also… uh…” he twirled a hand in the air thoughtfully, “help process it into something he can use? Maybe he can eat more lost souls that way… maybe??” He shrugged again, playing his part convincingly. “I’m not really sure how it works. I just do what he tells me.” He paused for a moment, taking another bite. After swallowing, he added, “He hasn’t really explained anything to me. He just tells me where to go and what trees to chop.” That part, at least was true. “For all I know, he has me in there just to watch me suffer.”

“So…” Bianca gave him a strange expression. “You… haven’t heard… any stories about the Beast?" 

Wirt blinked. “…Have you?”

“Of course I have!” She exclaimed. “Anyone whose been around the Unknown as long as I has heard their share of stories about him!”

Wirt was astonished to hear this. “Do you…” He began nervously, “Do you think you could tell me any? He never tells me anything.”

“He told you he hated witches,” Bianca said, “And that’s true. He killed the most wicked witch of them all, eons before my time.”

Wirt leaned closer, listening intently.

“The Baba Yaga,” Bianca began, “Was once the most powerful, wretched and feared sorceress in the Unknown. Everyone cowered from her, including other witches. The only ones foolhardy enough to approach her were outsiders like yourself. Pardon me…” Bianca excused herself from the table, and was back a moment later with two cups and a kettle of tea, which she poured for the two of them. After taking a sip, she continued; “She sought to master every spell she could imagine, but her ultimate goal was to control the Unknown to her whims. Outsiders were the perfect subjects for her deranged experiments, because they didn’t know enough to avoid the dangers of the Unknown, herself included. For this reason, it was common knowledge that most of them ended up as edelwood trees, becoming part of the great forest, and this fascinated her!”

“What did the Beast think of that?” Wirt asked.

“I’ll get to that!” Bianca snapped, annoyed at the interruption, “Anyhow, the Baba Yaga had three beautiful daughters, whom she groomed into helping her with her horrific deeds. Each of them despised their mother, but couldn’t very well stop her from whatever she wanted done. The eldest child, who was the most beautiful, sang lullabies and produced visions of light for the children captured by Baba Yaga, in order to make their deaths less horrific. It was said that she had the voice of a nightingale.”

Wirt took a nervous gulp of tea.

“The middle child was taught to weave the minds of her mother’s captives into doing her bidding, when she needed tasks to be done. She was also talented in the art of making charms to ward off the magic of others, lest someone attempt to undermine Baba Yaga. The youngest could absorb and redirect the magic of others, rather than shut it out. She was also a poison maker; concoctions that signaled the doom of anyone who ingested them except for her own family.”

“The eldest eventually fled her mother, and dedicated her life to shielding lost children from the unscrupulous darkness of the Unknown, using her gifts of song and light to help guide them home. Many years, she went at this. Countless children that would’ve surely met their ends at Baba Yaga instead passed through the Unknown unscathed. However, Baba Yaga was a wild, wicked old woman, and did not take kindly to having her toys taken away from her. It was no surprise that she eventually found her daughter, and dragged her back home, hoping to make an example of her right in front of her two younger daughters, lest they dare try the same. Her death was a slow, painful death, as the Baba Yaga wanted her to blossom into a great edelwood tree for her to admire forever. However, when she finally did expire, her body transformed into a flock of birds and flew away into the clouds, never to be seen again.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow at that. “How did that happen?”

“Darned if I know.” Bianca replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Perhaps it was her magic, or maybe her unbreakable spirit. I’m just repeating a story that’s been passed down long enough for many of the details to be lost to time.” She took of a sip of her tea. “It’s been said, however, that her spirit lives on in the dreams of good little children who never gives up; granting them wishes and guiding them home.”

The boy let out a derisive snort at that.

“Hush!” Bianca scolded, “I happen to like that part of the story!”

“Alright, fine.” Wirt replied, rolling his eyes, “What does that have to do with the Beast?”

Bianca turned her cup around in her hands, “The way the story goes, the middle daughter was so distraught by this, that she sought out the Beast’s help to put an end to her mother’s wickedness once and for all. The youngest warned her sister that this was a terrible idea, but she wouldn’t have it. Vengeance and hatred are powerful drives toward your enemy. Love even more so.”

Now the story was really getting interesting. “Did… did she have to make a deal with the Beast?” He asked, bringing his cup to his lips, “Or was it an enemy-of-my-enemy type of thing?”

“Weren’t you listening to what I just said?!” Bianca chastised, “Love, boy. They were in love.”

Wirt almost snorted his tea.

“The details of how exactly Baba Yaga’s death was performed are a mystery, but from what I’ve heard, they-“

“O-okay, wait! Stop!” Wirt held up his hands. “Did you just say that they were in love?!”

Bianca’s brow furrowed. “Twice. Now, three times.”

“The Beast. Was in love. With someone. Someone liked… the Beast. Like… _like-liked_ him.”

“From what I was told, yes.”

Wirt sat in silence, blinking incredulously, as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard.

“As I was saying,” Bianca continued, “The Baba Yaga was very powerful, and everyone who had tried to kill her until then had failed. Hurting someone who can heal themselves is tricky business after all. The two of them planned an intricate trap so that she would not only feel compelled to seek out the bait, but-“

“Why?” 

Bianca thinned her lips in frustration at being interrupted yet again. “Why what?” 

“Why… I…” Wirt tined his fingers against his forehead. “I… don’t get it. What the heck did she see in…??” He was too befuddled by the implications.

“Search me.” She said, holding her hands up. “Any daughter of Baba Yaga must be one wave short of a shipwreck.”

Okay, he had to laugh at that.

“Anyhow…” Bianca continued, getting back to her story “Nobody knows exactly what they did, or but by the time the two of them were done with Baba Yaga, she was no more, and everyone in the Unknown was glad of it.” She paused. “Of course, they now knew that there existed a malevolent force more powerful than she, so the excitement was naturally short-lived.”

“Is…” Wirt hesitated a moment before continuing his question. “Is she still out there somewhere? The Beast’s… _girlfriend??_ ” There was a description he’d never imagined being used before tonight.

Bianca shook her head. “I can’t imagine so. I haven’t heard any tales of Baba Yaga’s daughters outside of what I’ve already told you. They’re either long dead, or have made themselves so scarce that they might as well be.”

“Huh.” Was all he could say in response. 

Bianca gathered their empty dishes and put them in the washstand, gathering some soap to wash them with. Wirt made a move to help, but she shooed him away. “Not with your rattling hands! If you want to be useful,” she said, gathering the soap into a lather, “See if my little gift for you on the mantle fits.”

Wirt turned to the fireplace to find on top of its mantle was a piece of folded clothing. Upon unfolding it and holding it up in the air, a smile broke across his face.

A sweater. A white, wool sweater. Just what he needed. He took off his hat, undid his cloak, and put it on immediately.

“Well?” Bianca asked, turning from her position with a dish in her hand.

 He looked down at himself, studying the hem and sleeves. “…It’s perfect. Thank you.” He recalled that she made him a shirt and pair of pants not to long ago that fit perfectly as well. “Hey… how did you do this without taking any measurements from me??”

“Ol’ Bianca has a knack with sewing, amongst other things.” She said, giving a wink and turning back to the dishes. “In fact, I’m in the process of making you a whole new outfit for the spring festival.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The what?”

“There’s a great festival not too far from here, come every springtime. I haven’t found a reason to go these past few years, but perhaps you and I could stand to have a little fun, out and about. With you as my date, it’ll be just like my old days!”

He didn’t deny that the idea did sound pretty nice, but balked when Bianca used the word ‘date.’ Being around her, with her looking like Sarah was bad enough. Going on a date with her though? “I… Uh…”

“Don’t you hem and haw at me!” Bianca snapped, “I’ve been doing some very special things for you! The least you can do is accompany me on something special that we can both enjoy!” She gave out a huff, scrubbing harder at the dishes. “It’s only about two months away. I assume you’ll have nothing better to do, unless you’d rather spend time chopping trees or whatever it is you do with the wretched creature who put you in that lantern.”

He bit his lip and gave out a slow sigh. She had a point. “Fine, I’ll go.”

Bianca gave him a smile. “Good boy. We’ll have fun, the two of us, you’ll see!” She moved to get a towel to wipe the dishes with. “For now, you go take care of yourself, and whatever you need to do to quell the Beast.”

He nodded, picking up his hat and cloak from where he’d dropped them, and gathered the lantern once he was dressed. “Thanks again for the sweater.”

She waved goodbye. “See you again next w-“ Pause. “Oh, wait a minute!”

“Hm?" 

Wirt yelped as three hairs were swiftly plucked from his head.

  

*

  

Wirt had been walking through the forest for about thirty minutes before he felt a familiar gnarled hand grab his arm.

He scowled up into the eyes of the Beast. “What??”

“Feed. The lantern.” The Beast said sternly, threateningly.

Wirt struggled in the Beast’s grip. “All the bottles are back at the cabin.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” He hissed, moving at a quick pace and nearly dragging Wirt with him. Wirt stumbled and struggled to keep up with the painful hold on his arm.

“What’s the matter, Beast?” Wirt jeered at him between breaths, “Hungry??” He knew he’d pay for his bravado, but he was proud of himself for finally not caving before the Beast did.

His mockery was answered with a hard yank that sent him tumbling into the snow. He was just as quickly yanked back up, and they were back on their way. “You know better than to test me, boy.”

“You’re covered in enough faces.” Wirt huffed. “You could stand to go on a diet.”

“And you certainly haven’t missed a meal with your pretend mistress.”

Wirt sneered at that. “You’re the expert on romancing witches, lover boy.”

The Beast came to a halt.

It was so abrupt that Wirt nearly face-planted into the snow again, were it not for the ice-cold death grip on his arm. After steadying himself, he looked back up at the Beast, who stared back at him with bright, ringed eyes. When he spoke, his voice was full of powerful, but tempered anger. “What… did you just say to me?”

If the Beast had used this tone on him when he had first gotten to the Unknown, Wirt probably would have gone running blindly for the hills. However, months of threats, months of making him do his dirty work, months of mocking him and the life he stole from him and constant reminders that he would never ever get it back had slowly stoked a fire in Wirt that had by now grown so hot he might as well be carrying TWO lanterns…

Oh, it was on.

“Yeah, Bianca told me a funny story!” He began, keeping in step when the Beast started to move again. “A long time ago, you had a girlfriend! I know, I couldn’t believe it when I heard it either, but I guess there was bound to be someone crazy enough around here to want someone as tall, dark and nightmarish as you.”

The Beast said nothing.

“Did I mention that she was a witch?” Wirt continued, starting to become out of breath at the pace they were on now. “Is that why you hate witches so much? Your ex was a witch so now you hate them all? You must-”

Wirt tripped over a stone and had the Beast dragging him for several seconds before he found his footing again.

“You… must’ve really liked her back then, huh? You liked her so much that you killed her mom for her, right? Her crazy mom… witch… Baba Yaga… killed her big sister, so she needed her big, scary-as-hell boyfriend to help her get revenge! What did you do, Beast? Did you do it together, or did you kill her yourself while your girlfriend held your lantern for you? It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole thing wasyour sick idea for a date, anyway!” 

The Beast still wasn’t saying anything, and was moving so fast that he had Wirt in a jog by this point. Exhausted as he was getting, it did nothing to cool Wirt’s fervor. This had been a long time coming.

“Was she your lantern bearer back then? She must have been! You probably told her that you saved her sister’s soul in the lantern, didn’t you? You probably told her that and then convinced her to help you kill her mom so that you’d have less competition hunting lost so-“

His spiel was cut short as the Beast suddenly halted, and he was smashed face-first into a tree.

The Beast released his grip on him. “Careless.”

Wirt groaned in momentary dizziness, grabbing his nose and then immediately letting go as a jolt of pain shot through his sinuses. He pulled back his hand to find it was now covered in blood, and noticed only a moment later that a stream of it was now running out his nose, staining his cloak and new sweater. Ugh…

After a few weary blinks, and bunching the side of his cloak as gently as he could to his probably-broken nose, he realized he’d let go of the lantern at some point. 

“Looking for this?” The Beast asked, holding the lantern up. With a cautious motion of his clawed fingers, he flicked opened the glass of the portal.

Wirt groaned again, and turned away.

He was immediately yanked back as the Beast grabbed his bloodied collar, causing a still-dazed Wirt to lose his grip on the bunched fabric he held to his face, and the stream of red to resume coursing down his face. The grip on his collar was removed, only to be replaced by a painful grasp on the back of his head, angling his head slightly above the open lantern. Wirt struggled, but was only pulled closer. Close enough so that the blood running off his chin dribbled directly into the portal.

The sensation that overcame him was one of the most unbearable things he’d ever experienced in his life.

He thrashed and fought at the Beast’s grip until he was finally let go, falling into a flailing, bloody, twitching mess into the snow. Ohgodohgodohgod… The lantern. The lantern was hungry. He desperately looked back up at it from his position, and made a frantic attempt to snatch it.

The Beast caught his wrist.

“Get in there,” The Beast growled, “And get my oil.”

Wirt hadn’t even noticed until then that they were standing in front of the cabin.

As soon as the Beast let go, Wirt went scrambling in to collect the needed supplies as hastily as possible. Fire burned its way through his nerves, causing him to let out a pathetic, desperate wail. His hands couldn’t find the bottles of oil fast enough. He ran back outside, dropping into the snow at the Beast’s feet, and dug out the funnel from his pack. He stared back up at the lantern with bloodshot eyes and reached towards it. “Please…”

“No, no…” The Beast chided, holding the lantern further away, “I believe you were in the middle of sharing a very interesting story you’d heard about me.”

Wirt grabbed at the Beast’s cloak, tears welling in his eyes. “Nononono….”

“Did the lantern bearer lose something?” He asked with mock concern. “I could’ve sworn that your well-tempered tolerance was here a minute ago…”

“Come onnnn-n-n…!!” Wirt latched against an obscured leg, burrowing his forehead against it as a pained sob wracked his body. His fingers curled into the holes he found there.

The Beast tsk’d. “All those months, slowly and carefully fortifying your threshold against your self-appointed torment. What a shame it must be to have all your hard work and patience come undo-“

If the Beast said anything else, Wirt didn’t hear it over the sound of his own broken scream. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this anymore. The pain inside of him was just too much.

_Just make it end_

_Makeitendmakeitendmakeitend_

_Bash my head against the tree. No wait, the he’ll probably stop me. Stupidstupidstupid. Break one of the bottles and slash my wrists. Will he notice? How long would that take? Probably too long. Too long. God, this hurts. Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithur-_

“I said, give me a bottle.”

Wirt shook, and looked up.

“I will not repeat myself a second time.” 

Eyes darting back down, he hastily scooped one out of the snow and held it up with a quivering hand. It was plucked from his fingers immediately.

He couldn’t stop the embarrassingly loud noise that escaped his mouth as the pain was suddenly washed away in the wave of relief that crashed over him shortly afterward. His eyes rolled back and his lids fluttered as he slumped bonelessly against the Beast’s leg.

Before he had a chance to truly relax in the moment, the Beast plopped the lantern down next to him.

“More.”

This time, Wirt didn’t need to be told twice.

He poured two more bottles into the font at once, and the ensuing sensation that flooded his nerves was heaven-sent. He did it again with two more. Then two more again. The oil flooded out of the font and spilled onto his hands and stained the snow black. Honestly, he would have kept going if he hadn’t run out of bottles. It made no sense, but at the moment, why should it? His brain might as well have been miles away from his head, because he was so comfortably, deliriously and deliciously numb from the pain that had wracked him a minute ago and couldn’t possibly bother with any rational thought.

“Let go.” Wirt wearily blinked up at the Beast upon hearing his voice. He hadn’t even registered that he was holding onto his leg again, which he realized was trembling. “I need to sit down. Let go of me.”

The mental image of the Beast tripping over him had Wirt giggling stupidly in his pleasant haze, but he did as he was told and released him. The Beast lowered himself to slump against a tree nearby, and Wirt sluggishly crawled over to curl against him, the only reasoning in his dull head being that he didn’t want to lay down in the cold snow.

…Not that the Beast seemed to mind. Despite being on his bizarre high, he still let out a small shudder when he felt the Beast wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer.

“Hey… hey, creep…” he slurred out, trying and failing at giving his tone of voice any sort of bravado, “Did you… g-give the Woodsman these… weird cuddles… too?”

He lazily looked up at the Beast, who seemed to be somewhat zoned-out too. However, when he spoke, his tone implied that he was far more lucid that Wirt: “You’re speaking of the man that threatened to cut me into kindling whenever I went anywhere near him.”

“I’ll take… I’ll take that as a ’no.” Wirt clumsily replied, rolling his eyes. After another minute of silence, he felt bold enough to press on. “...What about your girlfriend?”

The Beast looked down at him with narrowed eyes. “Excuse me??”

“The… Baba Yaga’s daughter. The one who-who’s mom you killed… or something.”

“I can assure you that one of the exceedingly few similarities that our pasts share is that romance has been a completely absent theme in them.”

That comment probably would’ve stung worse if he’d been in a more sober state of mind. As it was, he simply shrugged and looked away. “…Whatever.”

“…I did kill her, however.” The Beast added.

Wirt blinked. “Who?”

“The Baba Yaga.”

He looked back up at the Beast, finding a small part of himself growing curious about how the Beast’s version of the story went. “…Did she do something to make you mad, or…?”

“Yes.”

Wirt scoffed. “Okay..?”

The Beast clicked his tongue impatiently before continuing: “The girl helped.” 

“The Baba Yaga’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

Wirt felt himself slowly becoming a tad more lucid, and sat up, furrowing his brow. “Why did she do that?”

“The girl hated her as well.” The Beast made a flippant motion with one hand. “Enemy of my enemy.”

“And they two of you were never…?” He made a crossing motion with his fingers.

“Never.”

Wirt couldn’t help himself as he let out a small, relieved chuckle at that.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just…” He shook his head, smirking. “Compared to what Bianca told me before, this story just got a lot less weird and gross.”

He felt the hand that was on his waist stiffen ever-so-slightly at the mention of the old woman. Wirt rolled his eyes again and absentmindedly scratched his nose.

_Hey, wait a minute…_

Confused, Wirt carefully felt around his nose, which he was so sure had been broken earlier. Nothing felt out of place, nothing hurt, and he wasn’t bleeding anymore. The only indication that anything had happened was the dried, crusting, coagulated blood beneath his nose and down his chin. It was dark, and he couldn’t see from where he currently was, but he was almost certain that the white sweater Bianca had made for him was probably ruined. He raised an eyebrow at the monster holding him. “Does feeding the lantern heal me now, or what?”

“The unknown provides to the those who provide for it.” was his response..

It was interesting to hear the Beast say that. Hadn’t Bianca told him something similar a while ago…?

Wirt decided to not to think about it, and tried to backtrack to the topic they’d been on before. “So… What happened to the witch’s daughter? The one that helped you, but definitely wasn’t your girlfriend?”

“She's dead now.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Did you kill her too?”

“No.” The Beast drummed his fingers on Wirt’s waist, and his voice took on a darkly jovial tone, “No, no… I believe I have a _different_ party to thank for _that~._ ”

Wirt was tempted to ask ‘who,’ but then decided that any subject the Beast seemed to remember fondly was better off being left alone. “You know what? I just realized I don’t care about this story anymore.”

The Beast chuckled. “I believe you were the one who brought it up.”

“Yeah, well… you can tell me to shut up next time instead of smashing my face onto a tree.”

“All I did was stop. You were the one not paying attention to where you were going.”

Wirt fidgeted uncomfortably in the Beast’s grip. “Let me go.”

He let out a yelp as he was suddenly, unceremoniously dumped to the side, and the Beast stood back up. A clawed hand reached back down to help him up, but was only met with a glare.

The Beast pulled his hand back. “I hope you learned a lesson, tonight.”

“Yeah,” Wirt spat, getting up and dusting the snow off his pants. “I learned that every time I think I can’t possibly hate you more, you prove me wrong.”

“Flatterer.” The Beast cooed. “Enjoy building your tolerance to the lantern back up.” 

“Screw you.”

The Beast laughed. “Feel free to share more of those delightful stories about me that the crone you’re courting tells you.”

“I’m not-“ Wirt stopped himself, letting out an annoyed scoff and began stomping towards the cabin. “I knew from the start that most of what she was telling me was probably bogus anyway.”

“Is that right?”

Wirt shot one last glare in the Beast’s direction. “She told me that the oldest daughter’s spirit shows up in the dreams of little kids and helps them get home or grants them wishes or something.” He shook his head and opened the front door. “If that were true, _I wouldn't have had to save my brother from you._ ”

The door slammed shut behind Wirt.

The Beast said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, I certainly took my sweet time on this chapter. :D


End file.
